


Solace

by elithien



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Arranged Marriage, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Emotional Constipation, Eventual Smut, F/M, Forbidden Love, Hate to Love, Infidelity, Pre-The Hobbit, Pregnancy, Secret Relationship, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, i did try to make it as movie-friendly as possible however, looooooots and lots of sil lore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2019-09-14 13:13:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 19
Words: 58,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16913499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elithien/pseuds/elithien
Summary: And then there was a slip of silver again.A disturbance. But a diverting, captivating disturbance.--The tale of Thranduil and his wife from the beginning of their journey to the downfall of their tragedy.





	1. Prologue

A big thank you to my Critique Partner [Ohtze](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ohtze) and Beta Reader [ReyloTrashCompactor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reylotrashcompactor). I wouldn't have been able to work on this if it weren't for them.

Everything italicised have translations under the notes section 

* * *

 

# Part I

At the birth of Autumn, the kingdom of Greenwood was at the border of new era. King Oropher, ruler of the Woodland Realm, had a great many plans for his heir. His greatest responsibility for the _Silvan_ elves. Since Oropher had first created this kingdom, the Silvan elves had remained reclusive for millennia. As a result of their seclusion, their relationships with other elven kin were relatively poor. Things were to change, however, as they now awaited the arrival of the _Sindar_ and _Noldor_ elves of _Lindon in Beleriand._

A single red leaf swayed gently until it landed just at the edge of his boot. Thranduil, Prince of Greenwood, stood by his father. His eyes were momentarily drawn to the leaf on the floor before he lifted his head and watched the procession at the gates of Amon Lanc. He stood upright, chin up and hands clasped behind him, knowing his father’s eyes were watching him carefully. Any unbecoming behaviour would surely be noted harshly by the King. The people of Greenwood stood behind the royal family, curiosity lingering in the air.  
  
At the front of the crowd, a tall, slender _ellon_ , with brown hair and a sleek circlet bade his horse to a stop and dismounted with a thump. King Oropher walked up and opened his arms, a smile spreading on his face. “My dearest friend Maeldir,” he greeted as they exchanged an embrace. “How was the journey?”

 

“A long one. While we sit on the eastern most parts of _Beleriand_ , there is still much distance to cover,” Maeldir replied.

“You remember my son,” Oropher said, gesturing at Thranduil.

The Prince bowed politely. “It is a pleasure meeting you again.”

Maeldir returned the greeting before he turned and joined the rest of his people. “I would like to introduce to you my lovely daughter, Halloth,” he said, as he guided the young  _elleth_  off her saddle. She walked up to the royal family of Greenwood and bowed long and low.

“It is a pleasure to meet you both,” she said. Her gaze shifted to Thranduil.

Thranduil observed the fair maiden. She was quite captivating, her hair braided intricately, adorned with a rose-gold plated circle of leaves coloured rich as the soil beneath their feet. He had seen a fair amount of attractive women in Greenwood, the Silvan no doubt having their charms. But her beauty was foreign, features softer and form taller and slender. The elves in Beleriand were known to radiate a certain glow when the angle of the sun hit them right. Halloth was indeed very beautiful.

“Come, you must all be weary from your travel.” The King beckoned, nodding at his servants to aid their guests with their baggage and horses. Thranduil turned his attention back to Halloth, who lingered behind. He drew a sharp inhale.

This was to be his wife, whether he liked it or not.

It was a political strategy for the benefit of the Silvan elves in Greenwood and the Sindar, and the Noldor elves of Lindon. The Silvan were not fond of the Noldor, and had not forgotten the _Kinslaying of Alqualondë_. Regardless, King Oropher had long wanted to reduce the tensions of their clans, even residing with Thranduil in East Beleriand for a time until they decided to forge their own path.

Thranduil felt his father’s eye on his back, observing with meticulous care. He straightened and waited for Halloth to finish talking with her father while the rest of the Lindon elves streamed by. There must have been at least a hundred in the party. As Thranduil resumed his gaze on Halloth, his eyes caught a strange glimpse of silver in the crowd, almost a glare. He blinked and looked again, but he saw it no longer.

**☽**

Later that evening, Oropher held a feast in the Great Hall. The festivities were livelier than their usual banquets, both guests and locals eager to socialise. The music of a subdued quartet filled the room with soothing melodies as the elves danced and feasted into the night.

Thranduil was seated between his father and Halloth, while Maeldir was to Oropher’s right. The Prince had been keeping to himself, picking at the grapes from the fruit bowl in front of him, piece by piece, and spoke only when prompted. This did not go unnoticed. Oropher peered from the corner of his eye before nudging his son. The king’s expression gave his son a clear message: this behaviour was not acceptable.

Thranduil sighed and reached for his wine glass. He threw back its contents before offering his hand. “Halloth,” Thranduil said, restraining himself from sighing. “Would you like to dance?”

She lightened at his words, and gladly took his offered hand. They rose from their chairs. He led them across the room, keeping his gaze straight, knowing his father and Maeldir were watching his every move. Heads turned as they made their way through the crush of revellers, their murmurs following them as they passed.

"They do look quite lovely together.”

“That is the future Queen, is she not? Oh how lucky she is.”

“Look at the details of her dress! It is so beautiful.”

Halloth gently squeezed his arm. Thranduil glanced at her. She was blushing. He noticed her lips parting, then exhaling a quiet, shaky breath. It was evident she heard all the flattering gossip. The warmth on her cheeks only added to her beauty.

 

 

When they found an open space large enough to keep Halloth’s lavish dress from being trampled, Thranduil turned and gently placed a hand at the small of her back. She moved in closer and took his right hand as they began swaying to the rhythm of the music.

Most elves were ensconced in their own affairs but it was hard to ignore the two marvellous creatures at the centre of the room. They turned and watched with awe and wonder, the sight enough to make anyone envious.

When they whirled around, Thranduil glanced to his father, the King observing them with intent eyes, but also with a satisfied grin on his lips.

Thranduil watched as the room moved around him in a slow, blurry glow. The ballroom looked as seasonal as the forests outside their halls, and it was beautiful. He could admit that.

And then there was a slip of silver again.

A disturbance. But a diverting, captivating disturbance.

“Thranduil?” It took a several seconds before the prince stopped searching and pulled his attention back to Halloth. He realised she had said something earlier but he hadn’t listened and guiltily, he had been looking everywhere but at her.

At that notion, he forced himself to dismiss the silver and set his full attention back on his companion. “You look lovely tonight.”

When the song ended, they released from each other’s grasp, their arms dropping to their sides. Halloth seemed to struggle to speak at first but quickly recovered. “Would you like to take a break from here and accompany me to the gardens? I heard many great things about it.”

Thranduil grimaced, but when Halloth’s expression turned into disappointment, he quickly reassured her and took her hand. “Of course.”

She brightened and squeezed his fingers back. “Let me just speak with my father for a moment. I will meet you at the entrance?”

Thranduil nodded. “I will wait for you there.”

The relief of having a moment to himself, however brief, was welcome. He snapped his fingers and immediately a servant came to his side, offering a tray arrayed with glasses of wine. Thranduil selected a flute and downed it in one go before trading it with a second glass. He repeated this ritual at least four times before waving off the servant. Belly now warm and head light, he wandered through the sea of people.

Thranduil spoke fluently to those who preferred the Sindar tongue. He conversed with a handful of guests.  He did encounter a few Noldor elves and, he mused, he realised their kind had changed little. Thranduil loathed their pride and arrogance, and it wasn’t much a surprise that they reciprocated his sentiments. Without even waiting to be out of earshot, they mumbled in _Quenya_ something that Thranduil could vaguely determine as “Even _Doriath_ in ruins looks more pleasant than Greenwood.”

He was tempted to retort with a rather nasty comment, but decided against it and moved off. Thranduil continued to walk further down the room until he reached the towering balconies at the very end.

The Prince leaned against the open frame. There he observed the people around him, mingling both outside and in. Laughter filled the night sky. When a group decided to come back in, he moved out of the way. As someone greeted him, his peripheral caught that silver again from the crowd. He squinted, trying to see past the many heads, and finally when a few shifted to the side, there he saw the face that matched the head of silver.

An _elleth_ , was talking to some of the Sindar, and Thranduil could tell he wasn’t the only one who had his attention stolen by her. Unlike the rest of those gathered tonight, dressed mostly in the colours of autumn, this fair maiden stood out in shades of grey that matched her silvery hair. It was not as magnificent as what many had worn, nowhere near as grand as Halloth’s beautiful draperies, but her velvet dress paired with a robe embroidered with vines was a rather unique choice. She certainly stood out among the other ladies dressed in the seasonal colours. When she moved forward, only then he saw a touch of blue on the stone that sat embedded at the centre of her circlet.

It was only when she finally pardoned herself and shifted past them did her icy cold eyes meet his. She approached him and bowed. The _elleth_ gave him a courteous smile, and Thranduil could tell she was doing it out of obligation.

Thranduil started, “It has been a bit of a guessing game this evening. Please tell me which of the elvish tongues you would be most comfortable speaking.” She merely grinned at him. Thranduil cleared his throat and spoke again. “Are you more comfortable in Sindarin?” he said fluently in Sindarin. “Or preferably Quenya?” His Quenya not quite as proficient.

The _elleth_ paused for another several seconds before she responded with an amused expression. “I was only curious to see how fluent you were. When travelling here, Halloth could not stop worrying that she would not be able to catch up with you in conversation, talking on and on about your multilingual skills. Do not worry my Prince, I have no problem talking in the common tongue of your people.”

“Are you Sindar then?”

“Yes,” she replied, though in _Silvan Elvish_.

Thranduil raised a brow. He was rather impressed. “It is not often I meet foreigners that can speak our dialect, though the Quenya accent comes through.”

 

Her eyebrows tensed in response. “I hate to disappoint you, but I am also Noldo, if that is what you are implying. My mother was exiled and chose to migrate to East Beleriand.” Thranduil could see that she looked slightly offended.

A Sindar, and a Noldo! He wasn’t sure what to make of that heritage, apart from the fact that her Noldo background certainly explained her forwardness. He would be lying to himself if he wasn’t disheartened.

“Forgive me, I meant no offence.”

She didn’t seem convinced by his apology but she quickly moved on. “I hope you have a pleasant evening, your majesty.”

It was rude to dismiss oneself in front of a royal unless it was with of utmost importance, but Thranduil expected as much from a Noldo. He always came under the presumption that they saw themselves superior to other kin.  Seeing that Halloth was no longer at the King’s table and the silver maiden had gone again, her name still a mystery, Thranduil decided to rendezvous with his bride-to-be.

He found Halloth waiting patiently where they had agreed, not in the slightest fazed with the sweetest smile on her lips. Still, she didn’t glow in the moonlight like the silver that had flickered in the corner of his eye.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> elleth - female elf  
> ellon - male elf  
> Silvan - the Wood Elves of Greenwood  
> Kinslaying of Alqualondë - The event where the Telerin elves (the predecessors of Silvan) were killed by the Noldor for their ships.  
> Beleriand - Northwestern Middle-Earth  
> Lindon, Beleriand - Region of the Westlands  
> Doriath - Land of the Sindar  
> Sindar - the Grey Elves. Elves of Telerin descent  
> Noldor - Deep Elves. They considered themselves superior to other elven clans  
> Quenya - the language of the Noldor  
> Silvan Elvish - the dialect of the Wood Elves  
> Sindarin - language of the Sindar


	2. Chapter 2

A big thank you to my Critique Partner [Ohtze](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ohtze) and Beta Readers [Isselon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/isselon) &  [ReyloTrashCompactor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reylotrashcompactor).

Elvish translations and specific notes are found under the notes section 

* * *

Elithien’s time in Greenwood was very different from Lindon. While the Kingdom of Lindon was larger than the Woodland Realm, Elithien lived in a provincial part of the land, a town more than a city, which was becoming increasingly apparent to her the longer she spent settling in the forest. The _quendë_ now found herself residing in the heart of a palace, a stark contrast to the tranquility she was accustomed to in her homeland. However, the beauty of the palace was coupled with its own burden, as she found herself constantly surrounded by masses of _quendi_. Watching. Judging. Her task was to represent her people by accompanying Halloth, the Woodland Realm’s future Queen, as an emissary to this foreign wood, which was, for the moment, to be her home. Elithien had known Halloth since she was young, and regarded her as one of her closest confidants. It was for this reason, that the quendë now found herself in this foreign kingdom, to assist her friend with her impending marriage.

On the afternoons where her presence was unneeded, and the diplomatic affairs of Greenwood were complete for a time, Elithien often found herself longing to wander in the Great Forests surrounding the palace. No dresses, no courts. Simply clad in breeches and a shirt, along with a satchel filled with essentials for the woods and her most trusted bow. She eagerly left at sunset.

Elithien had heard a many great thing about the Woodlands of Middle Earth. The forests back in Old Ossiriand stretched across the waves of foothills, with elm trees so tall one wouldn’t know how far they reached. The greenery continued up to the Blue Mountains, Ered Luin. There, the great giants guarded East Beleriand. At the peak, one could see the famous Seven Rivers of Ossiriand. Since the _War of the Wrath_ , however, much of its splendor was lost beneath the seas, and the great and beautiful Ossiriand was reduced to the small region of Lindon.

The quendë walked for hours, venturing deeper into the forest and further away from the palace. The woods in Greenwood were far richer than a spattering of elm trees. It was wild, untamed. Peculiar plants, ranging from shrubbery with thorns on their flowers, to foliage so big it could serve as shade, grew from between the lush bushes. Typically folks back in Lindon would avoid any species of plant possessing spikes, or of colours other than the safety of the verdant green vegetation. Elithien, however, was brimming with curiosity and wonder at the sight. She never imagined such exotic life could be so beautiful. She extended a hand and let her fingers brush over the wild ferns dangling from a fallen tree as she walked by. When she arrived at the base of the trunk, her eyes caught a small cluster of fanned sea-green mushrooms she had never before encountered.

“ _Yavanna_ , bless me. I realise how much of the world I have yet to see,” she whispered while kneeling. Elithien held great pride in Lindon’s beauty, but it could not compare to the flourishing and verdant sights that now surrounded her.

She reached into her satchel and took out a knife and a pair of leather gloves. Slipping them over her fingers, she cut the fungi from the bark before placing her curious new find back into her bag.

 

 

  
Time passed by unknowingly, and by the time Elithien took note of the distance she had traveled, she found herself approximately halfway from the border of Greenwood and Amon Lanc with the sun having long gone to slumber, giving way to the white light of the moon. Elithien had her satchel filled with the fruits of her forage: blackthorn berries, white rosemary, and various fungi, all of which she was eager to research further. Before her current role as a diplomat, Elithien was a woman of learning, anxious to absorb as much knowledge of the world surrounding her. It was this thought that reminded the quendë once again of her mother, and immediately Elithien missed their time together, and the hours they would spend studying and practising the ways of elven magic.

Her mother, Aurë, was one of the Noldorin exiles that had followed Feanör when they first departed Valinor. She’d been a child at the time. Later, she’d left her people and had journeyed further East to Ossiriand, where she spent most of her life alongside the Sindar. Few Noldo were known to linger in Ossiriand because of their indifference between the Sindar and Noldor, but Aurë was not typical in this respect. Though hardheaded, she found beauty in the simple things. Riches did not attract her, nor did she take pleasure in hunting game, preferring to nurture the creatures of the world over destroying them. These traits were far from anything one would usually presume of the Noldor, and much of these moral values influenced Elithien’s own views of the world and its inhabitants.

 _Amil would never believe the sight I see now._ Elithien glanced up at the night skies. It was partially concealed by the silhouettes of branches and leaves, but just enough to frame a breathtaking view. She realised, after a moment of stillness, that she was lonely. Despite being surrounded by the ethereal luminosity of the forest, a beauty that could inspire a plethora of murals, she was saddened that she had no one to share it with, and was reminded again of how far the distance was between her and her family.

Shaken by this emotion, she decided to return to the palace _._ There was no point staying out longer in lonely reverie. She used the notches she had marked earlier along her path to guide her way back, humming a soft tune to break the eerie silence.

After reaching the footpath leading back to the palace, Elithien heard a faint, ugly cry from the distance. It was followed by laughter. Bushes rustled and the birds flew as the sound of hooves bolting across the grounds grew louder. Her eyes caught a glimpse of an unusual elk. It had soft white coat that shone in the dark. Across its hind leg was a stark, bloody gash.

Something was not right. She quietly hid behind a tree and carefully watched in the dark. Waiting. Though slower than the elk, she caught two figures chasing after their prey. Her view was too obstructed to identify the predators. If it were truly dangerous, especially this close to the palace grounds, it was worth investigating.

Elithien stealthily followed after the elk, crossing to the unbeaten path. Following its trail, she found it backed up against a rocky overhang while two male figures with drawn daggers cackled. It was too weak to escape from its predators. She unsheathed her bow over her chest and quietly drew an arrow from her quiver.

“Look at ‘er. You reckon its pelt would make a nice gift for me nan?”

The language of men. Elithien approached, stalking low while she watched carefully from behind a shrub.

The larger of the two men stalked up and observed the cornered creature. He poked its swollen belly, the elk howling with horrible pain as it fell to the ground, now too weak to stand. The gruesome sound sliced through Elithien.

He barked a laugh. “It’s got a babe!”

He positioned his blade, ready to gut its belly, until Elithien drew her bow and shot an arrow right through the man’s hand. The blade flew a few feet away as he cried and cursed.

“Enough. You will not harm that creature any further,” Elithien spoke in the common tongue, her voice hostile. She stepped out from hiding with her bow fully drawn.

  

The lankier man stood there, dumbfounded as his friend cursed. He raised his dagger cautiously.

The injured human snapped his head to see his attacker, his eyes wet and red. “Fuckin’ knife ear!” he spat. “You gon’ for pay for this!”

Elithien pulled the string further back, her bow creaking from the tension. “You have no business on these lands.” She briefly glanced at the creature that writhed in pain. It wasn’t going to survive. “A white elk is known to be sacred to our people, and you sent not one, but two to their fate.” When the lanky man attempted to take a step forward, her body snapped his direction, her arrow now aiming perfectly between his eyebrows. He quickly froze and glared. _Good._ “I should have killed the both of you the moment I saw you chase after that animal.”

The injured man gritted his teeth. “You don’t tell me what to do you damned elf—“

“—What is the meaning of this?!”

Elithien whipped her head to the source, though her aim still fixed itself on her targets. Thranduil stood there with two guards behind him. His expression was furious. She turned back towards the men, and noticed the two of them staring at Thranduil’s crown. They smiled sheepishly at the Prince.

“Your highness,” he spoke, bowing rather clumsily. “We mean’t no ‘arm. We were just tryin’ to get food for our family.”

“Lies!” Elithien said, advancing three steps closer. These men were using her words to slide out of trouble! They scrambled away from her, raising their hands to play the victim. The Prince noticed the arrow pierced through the palm of the second man. His gaze turned to Elithien’s drawn bow.

“Seize her and her weapons,” he said. Thranduil nodded at his guards. They did exactly as ordered and confiscated her bow and knives. Elithien cursed while working hard to wrestle out of their grasps. “ _Á fatanyu_! How _dare_ you touch me like this!” she swore.

“Take your game and leave my land,” Thranduil said to the men in the common tongue “This forest is under the protection of my people and Men are not welcome in these parts. Should I ever see you again, you will not be treated as graciously.” They nodded, mumbling words of apologies and thanks as they quickly lugged the now dead elk away from them. Elithien clenched her jaw. _Oromë, may you curse these trespassers for slaying your children_.

When they were finally gone, Elithien managed to yank herself free. She was livid.

The Prince was the first to speak.

“You will not proceed to handle these kind of affairs by yourself. You are in my lands, and were given no permission to use your weapons on these foreigners.”

Elithien gaped at him with sheer disbelief. Her breaths trembled with anger. She was on the brink of exploding into a rant about how unjust this whole ordeal was, how these Men had been lying through their teeth just to get out of the situation and turn the dispute against her. She was revolted by Thranduil, accepting their story with no question, without even pause to consider her side of the events.

Instead, she closed her mouth, her teeth gritting as she took a few steps closer to Thranduil. There was a long interval, their cold eyes digging deep into each other, and she hoped he could feel her resentment.

“The thing that makes me most disappointed in you,” she finally said. “Is not the fact that you took my weapons and restrained me like an animal, but the fact you would rather protect the humans over your own kind. It seems the history of our clans have not changed so much after all.”

She only reached to snatch her satchel back from the guards and stormed past them. They made to follow her, but Thranduil raised a hand to halt them and let out a heavy sigh.

“Leave her,” he declared.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> quendë - elf  
> quendi - elves  
> War of the Wrath - the Great Battle. War of the Elves, Dwarves and Men against the Dark Lord Morgoth at the end of the First Age  
> Yavanna - One of the Ladies of the Valar*. Queen of the Earth  
> *Valar - Holy ones of Arda**. Similar to deities  
> **Arda - The world where the people of Middle-Earth and Valinor*** live  
> ***Valinor - The undying lands. Home of the Valar  
> Amil - [Quenya] mother  
> Á fatanyu - [Quenya] profanity. Roughly translates to: oh hell!  
> Oromë - One of the Lords of the Valar*[see above]. The Hunter. Lord of the Forests


	3. Chapter 3

A big thank you to my Critique Partner [Ohtze](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ohtze) and Beta Readers [Isselon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/isselon) &  [ReyloTrashCompactor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reylotrashcompactor).

Elvish translations and specific notes are found under the notes section 

* * *

 

The events that transpired several weeks ago by the borders of Greenwood still left Elithien soured with disgust. What little opinion she had for Thranduil had turned into sheer disappointment. She could vividly recall his stinging reproach and the hands of his guards subduing her, robbing her of any freedom to justify herself. Since then, she had isolated herself from social gatherings or any interaction in general for that matter, feeling too bitter to even feign interest in the nonsensical matters of court. The library of the palace had become her most valuable companion ever since.

The library was often an empty place, save the librarian who would occasionally come to sort books or return them to their shelves, and it was here Elithien found herself, seated on a plush velvety couch, secluded in a warm nook, facing a roaring hearth. Even if someone were to enter, she would be obscured from their gazes by the towering bookcases dividing the room. It was the privacy she voraciously craved.

An old, heavy book sat on her lap. Her fingers absentmindedly traced over the aged paper, then flipped to the next page as she propped her head in her hand.

While the library had become synonymous with comfort for Elithien, she also found herself dismayed that there were few arcane volumes catering to her preferences for her to peruse. There were, however, a surprising abundance of tomes devoted to herbology and botany, and subjects that related to the intricacies of elven magic. Her eyes drifted to the diagram at the bottom of the page. There she saw an illustration of the same fungi she had foraged, identifying it as a Deep Oyster mushroom, perfect for use in a rash salve, but terrible in a dish. It was in this routine of study that Elithien found herself every day for the past several weeks, sequestered in the confines of the libraries shelves until she decided to return to her quarters. She managed to smuggle a few books back to her room, hidden in the depths of her robes. Some books she became too engrossed in to simply put them back and risk them being read by someone else.

Today, like the many days before this, Elithien sighed and snapped the tome shut. She traded the book on her lap with another leatherbound volume, sinking back in her seat.

  

There was only so much dry, technical reading she could handle in a day. In those moments where boredom triumphed curiosity, she turned to the historical records of the Silvan elves. The history of the quendi had always interested the elleth, and she desired to learn more about all ancestors of her people. She knew a great deal of her Noldorin heritage, but her father had departed too early during her youth to know a vast amount of her Sindar blood. The Silvan were much closer to the Sindar than the Deep elves, and the library had an abundance of their records.

As she pulled her legs up and tucked them under her dress, another figure joined her in the seating area. She recognised the figure in an instant.

Elithien, still feeling petulant and justified in her anger, took her book and raised it high to block the view of the ellon opposite her. She could feel his gaze penetrating through the pages, and he eventually broke the stony silence.

“I know you are upset with me and you have every right to be.”

Elithien casually flipped a page. She couldn’t care less if she were punished for rudely ignoring the Prince of the Greenwood; her pride and belief in her own mistreatment would not let her acknowledge his attempt at contrition.

She heard a heavy sigh, followed by fabric rustling.

“What you said back in the forest was right. I should have put you first, above any Men—even within our kind. You are a part of the Woodland Realm now, and I am remorseful of my own treatment of my kin.”

Elithien slapped her book shut, a small cloud of dust rising from the pages. She averted her eyes from him, slammed the book on the desk, and stood up, walking off without a single utterance. Thranduil’s presence had only replaced her curiosity with loathing.

“Wait!” he said.

Thranduil was quick enough to intercept Elithien, standing in her way as he raised his hands in a plea to hear him out one last time. When she tensed, he quickly took a step back to give her some space.

“Please, know in your heart that I will make it up to you Lady Elithien. I swear it.”

She blinked—she had yet to give her name to the prince, and it eluded her as to who had informed him of it. Her pointed ears tingled as the familiar sounds rolled off his tongue. It sounded strange, but the Silvan intonation added a regal charm to the syllables and created a pleasant sensation deep within the elleth’s stomach. It was this that prompted her to break her silence.  

“I truly hope you do not treat Halloth as you did me, my Prince.” Elithien studied his face. He genuinely looked ashamed for his actions. Was that a shade of vulnerability that marked his countenance? Or a trick of the light?

Thranduil shook his head vigorously. “I swear, on my dying breath I shall never treat you nor my betrothed in that manner again. I swear this on _Ilúvatar_.”

While the Prince waited imploringly on her response, Elithien only bowed, and walked past his remorseful figure.   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ilúvatar - creator of the world. The all powerful one


	4. Chapter 4

A big thank you to my Critique Partner [Ohtze](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ohtze) and Beta Readers [Isselon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/isselon) &  [ReyloTrashCompactor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reylotrashcompactor).

Elvish translations and specific notes are found under the notes section 

* * *

 

Autumn was coming to its end. The trees, once lush with autumnal foliage, now stood bare and in stark contrast to the forest floors of Amon Lanc, which were now washed in shades of red, orange and yellow. Despite the season’s association with decay and loss, it seemed to Elithien that the elves of Greenwood knew how to maintain their high spirits.

With the falling of the leaves, King Oropher had declared a Harvest Festival to be organised, extending an invite to every quendi residing within reach. The festival was an instance in which to celebrate the hard labour of the common folk, the farmers, the builders, the servants, and even the martial forces of the realm.

While the night was to be a time of festivities, Elithien could think of no event she would detest more in that moment. Since her tête-à-tête with Thranduil, she found herself no longer having to sneak books away under the nose of the librarian. Instead, the quendë offered to have anything she desired brought to her room. Looking towards the desk in her quarters, she glanced at her newly acquired copy of _Lay of Leithian_ , a poem she had always desired to read. The tale of Beren and Luthien was one she had always hung upon keenly since her youth, and to finally read the tale from a written source had her heart fluttering in excitement.

Elithien took the tome from her desk and readied herself on her bed, book propped open on her lap, and began to flip the pages. As she began, a knock at the door roused her from her task. Elithien groaned, reluctant to put the book down and leave her moment of peace, but the knock persisted. The quendë cursed under her breath, swung her legs off the bed and crossed the bedroom into her living quarters to answer the door. It was Halloth, Maeldir’s daughter, that greeted her.

“Oh, Halloth,” Elithien said. “I was not expecting you to come here. Should you not be at the party right now?”

Halloth dismissed her words. A contagious smile formed upon her lips. The Princess moved past the chamber’s door with two handmaidens scurrying after her. Halloth gingerly took Elithien’s wrist and guided the silver maiden back to her bedroom.

“I know you, _mellon_. When you are upset, socialising becomes the bane of your existence. You would rather find comfort in lifeless pages of books than the comfort of your friends.”

Elithien, shamed by her friend’s observation, averted Halloth’s gaze in her guilt. “You know that is not my intention. I am simply... more comfortable governing my thoughts in my own time. It helps to give me clarity on a situation.”

“Or it bottles your emotions up for too long, and allows them to fester, where one day, they will all come bursting out.” Halloth grimaced, then patted the space next to her on the sofa. “Come, sit.”

The brunette nodded at her handmaidens to come forth.

“You are not escaping tonight. Where is that free-spirited elleth that I know? There was no one I knew better at partaking in the festivities of a celebration in Lindon than you.” The Princess instructed her servants to prepare Elithien’s gown, one she had personally selected.

Elithien sighed, accepting defeat. She knew she would not win this battle. “Do not misunderstand,” she said “I love to dress in beautiful gowns and adorn myself in all kinds of jewellery. And I _do_ love dancing the night away, but--” Elithien paused as she was ushered to stand up and allowed her current dress drop to ground, leaving her in just a slip. The maidens then began layering her in tonight's dress. “--I am simply not in the mood to be subject to the merriment of fools tonight.”

“Mhm,” Halloth hummed in response, walking over to the table where her handmaidens laid an assortment of glittering accessories. She took several pins, then walked back to the sofa. Halloth began braiding Elithien’s silver spun locks while her maidens adjusted her dress and fixed her makeup. “You have not been ‘in the mood’ for decades now. Please, mellon. I understand it is easy to fall into a habit, but I know in my heart you will feel so much better if you come. I promise to make you smile, and relieve you of this soured mood.”

“Do you know why I am upset?” Elithien asked, her body slowly relaxing to the gentle fingers of Halloth combing through her hair.

“I do. Thranduil informed me.”

Elithien paused, then changed the subject, unwilling to discuss further her personal ill-feelings towards the Prince. “How are you two getting along? I noticed both of you are spending quite a lot of time together. My balcony has a great view of the palace garden, and I often see the two of you strolling through the flowers.”

“It has been… delightful. The Prince is kind to me, and he has made me a promise to ensure our people are treated with the same respect as the Silvan elves would to their own kin. He has shown me a tremendous amount of care. Although I do confess, I did not expect he would be like this, not when we first met.”

Elithien let her words sink in. She remembered Thranduil’s promise to her about amending his wrongdoings. Was he truly going to keep his vow?

“I am happy for you then, Halloth, and I hope he will be as good a King as he will be your husband.”

Elithien caught the flush of Halloth’s cheeks in the reflection of the mirror.

The Princess finished the intricate braids with a silver cuff to hold them in place. She rose and moved to face Elithien, and finally placed a circlet onto the crown of her head.

“There. Now you look as you once did frolicking through the parties of Lindon, and every head will turn as you walk in that room.” Halloth grinned, taking Elithien’s hand and pulling her up. “You look beautiful mellon,” Halloth sighed happily. She was very pleased with her work.

  
“No,” Elithien corrected. “ _We_ look beautiful.”

 

  

**☽**

If the welcoming celebration to Greenwood had been large, then this event was enormous. The festival stretched far beyond the reaches of the Great Hall, and rows upon rows of tents had been erected throughout the gardens of the palace, reaching all the way to an open clearing in the distance. Elithien did not realise how many elves actually resided within the Woodland Realm until that moment.

Halloth had left ahead of Elithien, her presence required to escort Maeldir throughout the festivities. However, just because she had been left alone, did not mean the silver quendë would get away with simply not attending. The Princess, wise to Elithien’s strong will, had purposefully left her handmaidens to make sure she made it to the festivities. Upon her arrival, it was Elithien’s first instinct to turn around and leave.

Everyone in the area had turned to look--no, gawk at her. Due to her self-imposed isolation, she has barely seen one quendë in the past few weeks. Suddenly seeing hundreds was becoming all too overwhelming.

Refusing to be beaten by the stares of the Wood, the silver maiden squared her shoulders and straightened her back. She put on her best and most charming smile and began her walk into the throngs of revellers, ever the diplomat.

**☽**

As the silvery moon rose high in the night sky, Elithien began to drift away from the main festival, thinking to herself that she must remember to thank Halloth for her evening.

She could not remember the last time she had this much fun. What had started with small conversations, some flirting here and there, led to dancing until she was completely out of breath. That night she had met a new friend, Ruieth, who was unlike the other Silvan ladies at court. Her skin was much darker, while her hair was a deep shade of ebony, and part of her head was clean shaven, a style she had never encountered before. Elithien learned that she was Greenwood’s finest sentry, preferring the protection of her own sword than the uncertainty of someone else’s. Ruieth embodied the heart of a warrior, and Elithien could only admire her ferocity with awe.

Even though they had to part ways after a few hours of dancing and drinking, Elithien was happy that Ruieth had become her first Silvan friend. Through the formation of this new camaraderie, she also hoped that the wall she had created between her and the wood elves would fall, and they would forgive her self-imposed isolation from them.

The elleth made her way outside to the gardens to catch some fresh air and cool down. While the area was more spread out than inside, it was still filled with people.

“Lady Elithien.”

Elithien tensed--she would know the dulcet tones of the Prince anywhere now. She remained still for several seconds, dreading the topic of this conversation, but gathered herself and turned towards him with a forced smile.

“Good evening, Prince Thranduil.”

She waited patiently for him to say something to her, but she could see and feel his pressing gaze upon her form. He was taking her in, shamelessly too. His gaze was steady as it roamed across her from the bottom to top, and something flickered in those distant blue eyes. She knew that look. Nearly every ellon that had walked by her tonight had the same reaction, as if she was another dish upon a plate for them to consume. Thranduil now looked at her as though he was memorising every feature of her, as if he would be unable to ever see her again. Every contour, colour, and line of her body.

Suddenly, her mouth felt dry. She licked her lips.

It was then Thranduil spoke, “I am glad to find you. I did not think you would come, and even if you did, finding you was a whole other problem. I must admit, I relied on searching the crowd for your silver figure, as I have never seen you in another shade of dress. Apparently it worked out in the end.”

Elithien almost let out a snort, but forced a smirk instead. “I am sorry then that my apparent lack of imagination when it comes to dress has made it so easy for you to find me--should I attempt to dress in the green cloaks of your kin so you have a more difficult time?”

Thranduil chuckled. The lines of laughter on his face provided a very different look from his usual grimace. It was a pleasant change, and unlike his previous smile, this appeared genuine.

“Please do not mistake my words. Silver looks beautiful on you.”

Elithien folded her arms. “Oh? I see your courtly pleasantries are greatly improving. I was expecting something inappropriate to fall from your lips.”

Thranduil shook his head. “My behaviour towards you has been unforgivable. I should never have talked to you as I did before, and I take great shame in my past behaviour.”

Elithien paused at this. _So now he has gone back to concealing his true thoughts from me?_   She held her tongue, biting back her own thoughts.

Thranduil broke the silence again. “I want to show you something, if you will allow me to of course.”

Elithien glanced warily at his offered hand.

“Please, it would be the greatest pleasure you could offer me, a chance to right my previous misdeeds towards you.”

She exhaled and nodded, though she did not take his arm.

“Lead the way,” she declared.

**☽**

Thranduil escorted Elithien away from the bustle of the main festival and up a lengthy staircase that lead to the royal quarters, a space previously prohibited to her. When they reached the end of the staircase, Elithien noticed a pair of guards standing sentry on each side of an intricately carved wooden door. The guards, noticing the two figures approaching from the staircase, moved aside to allow Thranduil and herself passage into the royal wing.

Walking down the corridor, Thranduil guided her to a balcony that faced away from the festivities of the palace. Elithien could see the forests of Greenwood stretch out before her. The view was far enough that she could see a faint shift from the trees of the forest to open grasslands that marked the border of the Woodland Realm.

“Well, this is something,” she paused while resting her hands on the stone railing, where she found herself taking in the breathtaking expanse of the forest.

Thranduil joined her side. “This is not why I brought you here, though I do find my heart glad you enjoy the view.” He paused and pointed to a small opening amidst the trees. “Keep your eyes on that spot and wait.”

Elithien did as he implored. She could feel the true coolness of the air now seeping into her bones, the warmth of wine and dancing bodies of the festival now gone. A cloud of fog formed from her throat every time she exhaled. All that was left was the cold night breeze and the distant sounds of laughter; the faint song being carried through the wind. She tried to keep as still as possible, melting into the stillness of the balcony.

It was then that she noticed why he had brought her here.

At first, it was a flicker of pure white, something like glass reflecting the light. Then, more flickers briefly appeared, but the trees hindered her from seeing any further. Eventually however, her patience paid off, and the white morphing into a series of figures that appeared one at a time in the clearing she had her eyes fixed on.

It was a herd of white elks, the same kind she encountered on her journey through the forest a full cycle of the moon ago. She had never seen so many of the creatures in one space. It was practically a miracle to see more than two. Her heart stuttered, taking in the sight of at least ten elks that currently inhabited the clearing.

“I know you care deeply for Yavanna’s creatures. In the last several weeks I ordered a sanctuary to be built, where these elks can freely come and go. Within this clearing I have guards regularly patrolling the parameters for any poachers or unwanted guests. Though it is likely the elk will migrate for the winter, it is my hope they will always return to this space again in the spring, a space where they may come and find comfort and protection.”

Elithien went speechless. Her mouth was agape. She could find no words to describe her awe at the herd, and even moreso, at Thranduil’s fulfilment of his vow.

She turned to face him, and for once, had no doubt in meeting his gaze.

“Thranduil,” she started, but could find no frilly words to describe her gratitude. Instead, she uttered the few words that would come to her tongue, “Thank you.”

A small smile crept on his face. “I hope you can forgive me.”

She answered back with a smile, “If that is what you desire, it is forgiven.”

 

Elithien then paused, and waited for the dismissal she thought was to come now that their differences were put to rest. He simply held her gaze. Unable to hold his heavy stare any longer, she swallowed, then turned back to the view. There was only a single elk remaining in the clearing.

“If it agrees with you Lady Elithien, would you care to share a drink with me?”

Elithien glanced over her shoulder to see Thranduil had walked over to a side table, where he began to open a rather fancy bottle of wine, procuring two glasses from a tray placed beside it. There was a sofa by the corner of the balcony that she hadn’t realised was there, too engrossed by the world in front of her. Thranduil walked over to the sofa, placed down the bottle, and took a seat while patting the space beside him.

Elithien gave him an unimpressed look, “Are you _flirting_ with me, Prince Thranduil?”

He grimaced. “Must any exchange of conversation coupled with the offer of a drink have underlying intentions?” Thranduil shook his head. “I only desire to have a normal conversation with you, one that does not involve us descending into snide remarks at one another.”

Convinced by his candor, at least for now, Elithien moved from the railing and joined the Prince. She picked the glass and took a sip. It was strong and it was certainly not the same substance they were distributing at the party, but, by Ilúvatar it was delicious. This was what it must feel like to live as royalty, only partaking in the best vintages.

“I think this may be the best wine I have ever tasted.”

A coy smile pulled at Thranduil's lips.

“I thought you might like it. It comes from your region after all. When my father and I were in Ossiriand, he took a handful of souvenirs with him when he decided to leave.”

Elithien took another sip. She did taste a faint familiarity. “Ossiriand? This vintage must have been produced hundreds of years ago.”

Thranduil swirled the glass and smirked. “We take pride in our excellent taste in wine here.”

  
Elithien leaned on the armrest beside her, shifting her body to face him. “So tell me, what _normal things_ would you like us to discuss?”

**☽**

More than an hour had passed since their initial agreement to converse, but neither party had noticed the lengthy passage of time that stood behind them, too enthralled in the other’s company. As good as the wine was, it was a heady drink, and Elithien had already consumed a handful of beverages prior to their meeting. She was sure her companion had also.

The majority of their time had been spent conversing on the subject of traditions, and the apparent differences between those of Lindon and Greenwood, followed by a discussion of Thranduil’s progress with Halloth. It was at this subject Elithien decided to stand, surprised in her own mind that she was capable of doing so. She walked over to the balcony rail once again, although swaying might have been a more accurate description.

It was when she finally made it, on wobbly toes, that Thranduil spoke again.

“It was my mother’s last wish that I marry before I become king. And even before this whole arrangement, I still had little interest in taking a bride. It was not that I did not desire to find romance, it was simply that my interests laid elsewhere during that time. My parents lived during Morgoth’s terror, and there was too much uncertainty to raise a family. As a result, I was to be their only child. With my mother gone, there is no security to keep the strength and lineage of the monarchy alive, therefore the fate of my family lies on my shoulders. While I believe my mother’s intentions were good, her unfortunate passing left my father fixated on her final request to ‘make sure our son does not live his life alone, as he is now’. So he took it upon himself to arrange my betrothal, while also benefiting his Kingdom. A charming arrangement, is it not?”

Elithien mused over his words, and was reminded again of the Lay of Leithian--the tale she had originally intended to read that evening. “Have you ever heard of the tale of Beren and Lúthien?”

Thranduil nodded. “I am familiar with it. Why do you ask?”

“King Thingol and Melian were the parents of Lúthien. Beren was a human that fell in love with Lúthien. Naturally King Thingol greatly disapproved of this arrangement and went to the lengths of bestowing ill-fate to Beren. But their love triumphed over every hurdle, and even death would not separate them.”

Thranduil, seemingly defensive as to her point in this retelling, folded his arms. “I am well versed with the tale. What is it you wish to say? Be plain about it. ”

Elithien turned her head over her shoulder to glance at Thranduil, who was still seated. “I hope, that one day, you find your Lúthien too.”

He paused. “A sentimental wish, one I fear I do not deserve from you, but perhaps in another lifetime. My fate has already been sealed.”

Elithien didn’t answer him and merely turned to face the the night sky. She looked up at the silvery orb that hung there, a beauty surrounded by clusters of stars that were dusted throughout the sky.

“When I look at you from here, cloaked in the light of the stars, it is almost as if I am looking at Elbereth herself.”

Elithien whirled around, surprise evident across her features. She grimaced. “That is quite the compliment Thranduil, comparing my beauty to that of a Goddess? It is most definitely a compliment I am unable to live up to. Why do you feel the need to flirt and toy with my emotions in this way?”

Her eyes caught his pointed ears heating red. Thranduil coughed and averted his gaze, miffed at her observation. “Do not mistake my flattery for flirting. That would be severely inappropriate considering our situation.”

The maiden remained mildly suspicious, but pushed herself from edge of the balcony and slowly made her way back to the Thranduil seated on the sofa--although this action was mostly a result of her tipsiness. She fell onto her seat. Thranduil watched her warily.

She smirked.

“What?” Thranduil asked, suspicion rising in his voice.

Elithien stared at him, silent for several seconds, before she broke into a giggle, which quickly turned into laughter, which left Thranduil further baffled. He could only watch her, practically wheezing, while she clutched at her stomach. Sensing her own hysteria, Elithien forced herself to take a deep breath to calm her fits of laughter. She wiped a tear that had escaped her eye and spoke.

“You have such a stern look upon your face at all times, especially if one is making a joke. And you do this thing, where you scrunch your brows and your lips purse, and I must say it reveals two rather adorable dimples. It completely contradicts your stern expression.”

Thranduil shook his head, ready to stand up and leave his present company, but Elithien quickly reached up and boldly wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled him back down. He froze. At the realisation of her faux pas, Elithien retreated and blushed in embarrassment. “Forgive me my Lord--I was not thinking clearly.”

Both stunned by her actions, they sat in silence, Elithien gulping down the rest of her drink, struggling with her own lapse in judgment. She enjoyed his company and did not realise how engaging he could be when they were able to put their differences aside. If she did not think of something to break the tension, however, it was likely he would leave as a result of her rash actions.

“What colour are your eyes?” she blurted out, immediately regretting her decision when the words left her mouth. _Eye colour! Who says something like that?_

Thranduil shrugged, turning to look at Elithien. “Blue?” he answered her nonchalantly. “A strange thing to ask.”

She could not think of something more appropriate to replace the subject, her mind escaping each time she tried. Her drunkenness left her no choice but to finish the line of conversation she had started.

“I suppose you have nice eyes,” she muttered honestly. “It looks blue, but sometimes in a different light, it can look green. I was too engrossed in my anger with you to take a proper look, but it left me curious. You can tell a lot about a person from looking in their eyes.” She shook her head and tried to dismiss the conversation again. “It was a frivolous thought.”

The ellon mused over her words, contemplating for a moment before he decided to lean his face towards hers. “You tell me, then.”

Elithien was taken aback by his boldness, but pressed her palms to the seat and shifted closer. She cautioned herself when she drew dangerously close, but when Thranduil show no sign of discomfort, she leaned forward further to examine his irises.

“You do have hints of green, grey too,” she observed. “The intensity of blue overpowers the other colours, which is why it was difficult to tell if I was only imagining it.”

She noticed he was studying her own, equally as curious. “Mine do not have the same intensity,” she commented.

Thranduil subtly shook his head. “They do.”

She thought he was going to add more to his sentence, but silence was all that she received. Elithien had nothing left to say, and thought it was best to put some distance between their figures, but she did not. As the moment grew, neither did he. They were simply fixated on each other in a daze.

She would never allow herself to admit it aloud, but it was the first time she viewed him as someone who was physically handsome. The sudden thought left her stomach churning with guilt. She should not be thinking of the Prince in such a way.

Elithien swallowed nervously when she realised his gaze had dropped to her lips. Her heart began to flutter, anger and confusion rising with every beat. She was ashamed of herself for even entertaining the idea, and became frustrated that her body would not listen as she reciprocated his action.

Elithien was not naive to see where this was going. She needed to ask. “Are you going to kiss me?”

His answer of silence only had her stomach sinking further. Their lack of restraint had Elithien trembling. She could not believe she was not objecting to his affections.

 

As if slap snapped her back to reality, she abruptly rose up, feeling Thranduil’s hand slide away, until she was completely upright. He looked at her, confused and evidently drunk. Elithien only responded with a muttered thank you as she fled the room, struggling to walk as the heaviness of her emotions pressed upon her, leaving her very drunk, very ashamed and very, very aroused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mellon - friend  
> Lay of Leithian - the tale of Beren and Lúthien


	5. Chapter 5

A big thank you to my Critique Partner [Ohtze](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ohtze) and Beta Readers [Isselon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/isselon) &  [ReyloTrashCompactor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reylotrashcompactor).

Elvish translations and specific notes are found under the notes section 

* * *

 

With the coming of true winter, Elithien found herself one afternoon having tea in the Great Hall with Ruieth and Halloth. Halfway through her delectable flowered-green brew, she was interrupted by the arrival of the first letters from Lindon. When the servant came to their table, distributing mail, the ellon gave Elithien two letters. The first was addressed to her by her mother. A smile formed on her lips. She took comfort in the familiar cursive strokes. The second had no name, but was adorned with the waxed seal of Lindon’s crest.    
  
Elithien set aside the mystery letter and opened her mother’s first, desperate to hear some words of maternal comfort. It read:   
  
_My dearest child Tindaurë,_

_I hope your second family is treating you well. I think of you every day. Lindon is a little dimmer without your light there to breathe life into this cold season. There is unrest with the fell. Tension is rising. I can only hope it dies out before anything worsens._

_As requested before you departed, I recommend searching for these books if you wish to read further in your studies in magic while you occupy Greenwood. I have listed them overleaf._ _  
_

_I am always thinking of you, my precious daughter._

_Your mother, Aurë_

The quendë’s heart fluttered upon reading her Quenya-given name. It had been the name only her mother called her, while the rest of the world was given Elithien. It was the one piece of Quenyan heritage that her mother passed down to her, while Elithien carried the rest of her father’s Sindar legacy more obviously. To Elithien, her Noldor name was the biggest gift Aurë had given her.

Her mother’s familiar handwriting gave her great comfort, but also terrible longing. She missed her mother more and more dearly with every cycle of the moon. Elithien flipped the page and read through the list before she folded the letter back up and kissed the paper, wishing it would transport the ghost of her kiss to her mother. Her attention was suddenly taken away by Halloth’s words.

“This must be important if it is coming from Gil-Galad.”

She looked up to see Halloth holding a letter identical to her second one. Murmurs increased throughout the room. She glanced around the hall and noticed all quendi from Lindon had received the same letter.

She took the wax-sealed envelope and opened it. It read:

_My people,_

_The fell that has plagued our lands has finally breached our fort in Forlindon. I am calling for all elves to come and join our fight to drive back these foul creatures. My general will lead the front of this battle. Report to him should you join the cause._

_I am aware some of you are far away from home, but your people need assistance, in this, I fear to be our darkest hour._

_I implore you return to quell this attack._

_King Gil-Galad_

By the time Elithien finished the letter, there was unrest in the hall. Oropher, Maeldir and Thranduil entered the room shortly after. It seemed word had spread throughout the Greenwood. Upon stepping on the platform, the King of the Woodland Realm nodded at Maeldir. The Lord stepped forward and spoke.

“My people. These are dire times. I am sure most of you have received a letter from our King. We are far from our homelands, but I would request a small party to travel back to aid their cause. Some of our finest warriors are present, and if you feel the need to bloody your blade, then please do it in protecting our fine home.”

Elithien gazed down at the letters in her hand, her heart clenched at the sight of the one from her mother. Her heart skipped a beat at the thought of her only remaining family being slaughtered in cold blood. She had to go, she had to protect her!

Elithien rose from her seat. “I will rally to Lindon.”  


 

While the elleth had turned to a life of delegation and peace, in recent years, it did not mean she was foreign to combat. The blood of a Noldo warrior ran strong in her veins. As a hunter, the bow had become an extension of her arm, and as a  practitioner of the arcane arts, magic and archery proved to be a unique synergy on the battlefield. And while it had been years since she has last shed blood, she did not doubt her in her ability, they would not fail her now in her time of need. No sooner had she spoken, several elves followed her lead, rising up and repeating her sentiment.

Ruieth looked up at Elithien for a moment. A grin formed on her lips, and admiration filled her eyes. Inspired by her words, she stood, “the people of Lindon are my people. I will join their cause.”

The admirable gesture from Ruieth moved many of the Silvan. It was not often the wood elves would protect quendi outside their clan, let alone an elleth taking initiative. Several others followed her until there was an ample amount of volunteers from all clans, enough to call the party a generous reinforcement. Maeldir’s expression transformed into one of both pride and gratitude.

It was then that Thranduil, briefly placed a hand on King Oropher’s shoulder, commanded the attention of the gathering, and stepped forth into the centre of the chamber. “I will join this riding force, and represent my people--they will need a leader for this coming battle.”

Elithien did not expect Thranduil’s initiative in aiding them. Instead of meeting his gaze, she glanced at Oropher to see how his father felt. The King only nodded with an approving look. Thranduil’s initiative to protect her people left her with a warm, tingling sensation familiar to when she shared a drink with him that night at the festival, though she was quick to shake the thought from her head. There were more pressing matters to attend to than her conflicted emotions regarding the Prince.

Maeldir scanned the hall once more before he concluded, “We must all prepare at once.”

 

**☽**

 

Elithien tilted her head back to observe the grey skies. Rain was imminent. Her eyes drew to her steed, one she had named Silif. _Light of Silphon_. She leaned forward and whispered words of comfort to her horse. They had been travelling tirelessly across Middle-Earth for several weeks. With the distance they covered, and various landscapes they had witnessed, from open plains, to rocky tundras, and steep marshlands, they were lengths away from Greenwood. The elleth turned her head to look over her shoulder and studied the view behind her, wondering how far she truly was from the Woodland Realm, and if it hid somewhere just beyond the horizon. The thought of the forest reminded her of Halloth, recalling again her parting words:

_Please my friend, watch over Prince Thranduil for me._

After the call to arms in the Great Hall, Halloth had pulled Elithien away to speak with her privately. Initially she had asked if she could join them in battle, but Elithien had vehemently disagreed, explaining their people needed her in Greenwood. In truth, Elithien was more concerned about Halloth’s personal wellbeing. The elleth was no fighter, and the journey would not be pampered with servants to take care of her, as she had been on the way to Amon Lanc. Elithien pointedly did _not_ mention that fact to Halloth. She did however, promise to adhere to her wish for Thranduil’s safety.

_Thranduil_ , she mused. Her eyes darted to the far front of the party. His hair swayed gently every time his horse trotted. She sighed.

Several hard weeks had passed, and not once have they spoken. Whenever they decided to take a break and let the horses drink, she never had any opportunity to talk with him. It was as though he was avoiding her. The events of her evening with the Prince was forced into the back of her mind, much to her own desire to bury it there, but it never failed to resurface again in her wandering thoughts. The longer she ignored it, the more it taunted her, and eventually, she could no longer deny their drunken exchange of desire to herself.

She grumbled. Enough was enough. She pulled on the reigns and her horse cantered to the front. Thranduil peered at her from the corner of his eyes but his head remained fixed on the path ahead.

“I need to speak with you. It is an emergency,” Elithien said. Thranduil pursed his lips before prompting his ride to move further front. She followed after him until they were a decent length away from the bulk of the party. It was then he spoke.

“What is the matter?”

“Us,” she answered, gesturing at the distance between their bodies . “I am no fool Thranduil. You have been deliberately avoiding me.”

Thranduil was silent, but Elithien only persisted. “My Lord, please tell me what the matter is, so we may resolve this tension between us.”

“I have not forgotten about that night.” he said brusquely.

That night, Elithien felt her stomach churn. “If it was my behaviour, then I apologise for it. I… was very drunk, and I tend to not keep my hands to myself, nor my mouth silent. Rest assured my Lord, it will not happen again.”

Thranduil shook his head. It looked like he was withholding something he desired to give voice to. Discontent with his aloofness, Elithien pushed him. “What?”

“Had you not moved away, I know in my heart that I would have kissed you that night.”

Elithien felt a rush of cold shiver down her arms. She swallowed. Hard.

“Thranduil…,” she murmured, relishing his name on her tongue. “You know this is not fair, on anyone, especially Halloth.”

And yet, deep in the back of her mind, that one tiny thought, wished he had closed the final distance between their lips. No matter how much she wanted to deny it, the thought of him acting on his words made her chest tighten. But the more she let that thought linger, the stronger Halloth’s words were, her sweet face haunting her guilt-ridden mind. She could never do such a thing to her friend, no, her _sister,_ by all but blood.

“My Prince,” she continued. “Let me make this clear: whatever transpired that night was nothing. We were both inebriated. It was a mistake on both our parts, and we shall never speak of this again. Halloth is my friend, and I desire to respect her arrangement with you while I wish for you to respect my duty here with the Silvan as a professional. While I appreciate our friendship, I cannot yield anything beyond that.” She paused before uttering her final words, each syllable feeling heavy on her tongue, “Do you agree to these terms?”

Thranduil’s expression once guarded, transformed into a pained grimace. “As you wish.”

He whirled his horse around, and left her to rejoin the group.

 

**☽**

 

Once the group of elves crossed the mountains of Erid Luin, they travelled hastily to the forward camp in nearby Mithlond. There they joined with the main army there, and with little rest, they marched straight to the orc encampment lurking between the Blue Mountains and River Lhûn, with Gil-Galad’s General and Thranduil leading the march.

The battle had been bloody. When the odds turned in the elves’ favour, the enemy abandoned their hold and fled. It was likely that the fell scurried back to Mordor, but it was warning enough not to come anywhere near their borders or they would share the same fate. With Morgoth long gone, they would have no courage to challenge the elves and their allies. The battle was won.

A celebration was held in Forlindon, hosted on behalf of King Gil-Galad, but Elithien and her companions preferred to return to their hometown of Harlindon, located south of Mithlond. The Silvan chose to follow them as well.

Elithien was exhausted. She had not slept for days and her body ached. She had a few cuts on her arm and face, but none deep enough to form a permanent scar. Her hair was muddied with grime, clumped and tangled, and her once grey ensemble was tattered. It was not quite the look she wished to present to her mother, but it would have to do.

The closer they neared the town, the louder the sounds of cheering became. At the front of the crowd that formed at the town centre stood her mother, radiating with a beautiful golden glow. Elithien cared not for formalities and hastily dismounted Silif. She ran up and hugged her tightly. Her mother stumbled a few steps back from the impact before returning the embrace.

“Oh Amil, how I have missed you,” Elithien cried. She squeezed her tightly.

Aurë, clinging to her daughter, replied, “I have prayed day and night to _Oromë_ to grant you strength and _Elentári_ for your protection. They have listened.”

Elithien pulled back and sniffled a happy smile. Her mother cupped her cheek and swiped the tears away. “I have prepared you a hot bath. By the look of you, you most certainly need it.”

Elithien snorted at her mother when she wrinkled her nose, and turned to see the rest dismounting. Embraces were exchanged and introductions were made. Thranduil approached before he bowed.

“It is a pleasure to meet you,” the Prince greeted.

Elithien stepped aside before speaking. “My Prince, I would like to introduce you to my mother, Aurë.”

Aurë smiled at the young prince. “ _Elen síla lúmenn' omentielvo_. You may not remember me but I knew you as a small child. You would often hide behind your father’s robes.”

Thranduil cleared his throat. “Forgive me if I do not remember. It was a long time ago.”

She shook her head, unfazed by his apologetic remarks. “My friends here have prepared you and your friends a bath and fresh clothing. They will tend to any wound necessary.”

The Prince thanked Elithien’s mother. “Your hospitality is is most kind.”

Aurë gestured at the houses further down the footpath. “Come, let me show you the way.”

 

**☽**

 

Elithien indulged herself with a lengthy, very well-deserved, soak in the waters of her bath.

After weeks of travelling with little time to stop and rest, followed by immediately preparing for battle, hygiene had been the least of her priorities, but that was about to change. The water had become opaque with a murky brown colour by the time she was able to scrub off all the dirt from her skin. Her hair was a whole other matter. It was a painful process of cleaning and detangling, resisting the urge to give up and simply cut it all off. The only reason she restrained herself, was the scorn that was sure to follow from her mother had she acted on that impulse.

She rose from the tub and stepped over onto a long slate. The bare quendë reached for the large ladle floating in a wooden basin that sat beside the tub and scooped fresh water and poured it over her head. She repeated this step until she was fully clean. When she ran a hand across her shoulder, she hissed from a sharp sting. Turning her head, Elithien studied the single but long pinkish wound that was thankfully healing rather quickly. Still it was sore to the touch, thus she was careful to avoid her injury. When her eyes roamed around to inspect further for any other damages, she was relieved to only find bruises and a few grazes, even if the unsightly spots of blue and purple were stark in contrast to her pale skin.

Elithien dried herself and then crossed to her bedroom, retrieving the linen dress her mother left. It was plain and loose, providing more comfort than style. After the servants came to inspect and tend to any wounds, she fixed her damp hair into a quick braid and met with her mother sitting in the living room.

Aurë’s eyes lit at her daughter’s presence. “Look at you Tindaurë, refreshed and vibrant again.”

Elithien noticed the bouquet of wild flowers beside Aurë. Her mother hadn’t forgotten.

“While I may appear refreshed, I feel as if I have fell from the highest tree in Lindon. Do not expect me to rise in the early hours of the morning,” Elithien groaned as she reached for her sore neck. She attempted to massage it soothingly.

Aurë rose from her seat and gathered the flowers. She walked up to Elithien and handed it to her. “Not until you say hello to your father.”

The silver maiden answered her with a nod, her grip tightening on the stems. Her father’s unfortunate passing happened when she was reaching her adolescence. He fell victim to an orc ambush, one she forever felt responsible for. Had she not insisted her childish demands that he fetch her favourite berries that very day, then perhaps he would still be alive. From then on, the weight of his death never lightened from her shoulders.

She left her home and travelled a short distance to the Baranduin River. When she reached the edge of the stream, she knelt down and observed her distorted reflected in the water.

“I always wonder if you are well in the _Halls of Mandos_ ,” she whispered. Her grief was surfacing. “I know you love when I sing. I hope these flowers may carry my voice to you.”

She began to sing to a slow, melancholic ballad, unable to fight back the tears as she slowly lowered the bouquet onto the water. The current carried it away, her eyes following it as it travelled in the direction of Valinor.

 

  
Managing to tear her gaze away from the petals floating down the clear waters, Elithien looked up at the village now being lit for the evening. She noticed a figure from across the river and between the trees, squinting until she realised it was Thranduil standing there. Watching her.

Anger quickly flared in her stomach. This moment was extremely private to her. She would expect him to respect her privacy, when she was so clearly expressing her grief!

His intrusion caused her to stand, enraged at his intrusion, and ready to snarl at him for invading her space, but she found that his form no longer occupied the hidden depths of the tree line.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tindaurë - [Quenya]: silver glint  
> Elen síla lúmenn' omentielvo - [Quenya]: A star shall shine on the hour of our meeting  
> Oromë - Huntsman of the Valar  
> Elentári - [Quenya]: Queen of Stars. Also known as Varda (Sindarin), mentioned in the previous chapter.  
> Halls of Mandos - The dwelling of the souls of the dead.


	6. Chapter 6

A big thank you to my Critique Partner [Ohtze](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ohtze) and Beta Readers [Isselon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/isselon) &  [ReyloTrashCompactor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reylotrashcompactor).

Elvish translations and specific notes are found under the notes section 

* * *

 

For a rural settlement as small as Elithien’s, it amazed the elleth at how Thranduil was able to keep himself so constantly busy throughout his stay. The remaining time they had in Harlindon was meant for recovery, a chance to regain their strength for their return to Greenwood. While Elithien remained relatively unscathed, fortunate enough to only receive a small number of grazes, cuts, and bruises, others needed weeks to recover from their injuries.

Ruieth was one of the unlucky ones.

Elithien had seen her fight, and it was like an art form watching Ruieth weave through the battlefield. For every single kill Elithien made, Ruieth had made four. It was a great relief to her that Ruieth was on their side of the battle. She shuddered to think of the damage she could have done to their ranks. However, an unexpected club had smashed Ruieth’s shin, shattering her bones. It had been three against one. No one expected her to come out of such a feat unscathed.

The elleth would come and visit Ruieth, keeping her company with stories and song. Her leg was in a cast and though Ruieth hid her feelings well, Elithien could tell her injury left her in pain.

After her visit with Ruieth, the town was at its calmest. Children played by the stairs, animals curiously nipped the fruits left for them, and adults drunk mead on their porches. And yet, she saw Thranduil conversing deeply with his second-in-command, his face scrunched in up concentration. She sighed. It wasn’t even yet midday.

No matter where Elithien went, Thranduil was always working, but she had no inkling on what he could possibly be working on. Her town’s biggest, and only, dilemma was when they should renovate the roofing of their homes.

When his second-in-command acquiesced to Thranduil’s demands with a nod, desiring to be dismissed, it was then Elithien decided to step in, before the Prince chose to do something to disrupt the peace of the town, like discussing politics with Aurë.

“My Prince,” she called. “I have urgent business to deliberate.”

Apparently, these were the exact words she needed to say to capture his fullest attention. _Of course._

“What is of the matter?” He replied, immediately meeting with the quendë.

Elithien began walking, expecting him to follow her. “Not here. There is something I need to show you.” She stopped and turned to look at his attire. He was wearing a robe over the Harlindon-made ensemble. No doubt Aurë’s decision. The lighter colours on him made his figure feel slightly less intimidating at least. “I would advise you leave your robe, however.”

Thranduil raised an eyebrow. “It is uncomfortable without it. Why?”

“Trust me on this,” Elithien insisted.

He hesitated first before shrugging off the heavy fabric and hung it over the fence where he was residing. Although the cold never truly affected elves in the way it did other races, his luxurious lifestyle spoiled him of comfort. He took great comfort in his layers and being stripped down to only a tunic and trousers left him feeling peculiar, perhaps to an extent, even exposed.

Elithien turned on her heel. “Follow me.”

 

**☽**

 

They walked a lengthy distance. Far up the hills, until they were entering the path into the mountains. Elithien was surprised Thranduil hadn’t questioned her on this unusual meetup thus far, but he remained silent. She discarded her own outerwear for this trek as well. Especially when scaling to higher ground, the effort to climb up was enough to keep the heat burning in her muscles.

It was when they reached a particularly high outcropping of rocks that Thranduil halted. “Enough. I need to know why we are travelling up Ered Luin before we continue any further. What possible business could be this far from the town?”

Elithien drew a long inhale, the air thinning with every step. She took this moment to regain her breathing. “Nothing,” she admitted. “You have been working day and night since returning from battle. I have never seen you rest once. Do you even sleep?”

Thranduil grimaced. “While I thank you for your concern, I have more pressing matters to attend to. A hike is not one of them.”

Elithien puffed, folding her arms, unconvinced. “Really? Like what? Inspecting requisitions for Harlindon’s flower arrangements?”

Thranduil snorted at her sarcasm, but he had no real answer to argue back. She took his silence as confirmation that she was right.

“Good. Now let us continue. Staying still any longer would be unwise in this weather.”

The Prince grumbled but continued. He was restless to remain where they were and argue her point.

They continued further up. The sun’s sudden appearance after hiding in the clouds all morning was greatly welcomed upon their pink cheeks. Even if she had trekked this route many times in her life, it never felt easier. Elithien quickly jumped three steps up, her boots now crunching in thick sheets of snow. She reached to untuck her hair in order to cover her aching ears, the tip peeking out every time her hair swayed. At last, she stopped at a crag and caught her breath.

“If this is your idea of relaxing, I cannot imagine what kind of rigorous exercise program you have,” Thranduil panted, his hands now on his hips. His only saving grace on this demanding hike was that it was a way to keep warm. He could see why a robe would be inconvenient on this trip.

“Look,” Elithien exhaled in between her breaths. Her hand pointed out to the horizon.

Thranduil glanced behind him before having to turn fully in order to take in the most breathtaking view.

Elithien joined him, gazing down the scenery of lush greenery that still clung onto autumn, now in beautiful shades of the earth, stretching far out. Past the forest one could see the Gulf of Lûhn, its mouth curving dramatically out into the ocean. If it were on a perfectly clear day, the haven Mithlond could be clearly seen.

“No matter how many times I come here, this view never ceases to leave me in awe,” she said. The elleth gestured at Thranduil and then the ocean. “Do you see those trenches between the reef? That is what is left of the Seven Rivers of Ossiriand.”

She listed their names, pointing at each dark blue line between the colourful turquoise. She continued on what cities and regions used to reside in these sunken lands, her story continuing all the way to the open ocean, a horizon that was nothing but open water and sky. A land once known as Beleriand. “If you look northwest from where we stand, that was where Doriath used to be.”

Thranduil shook his head in sheer astonishment. “A part of me wished I was young enough to have seen the First Age in its splendour. Ilúvatar created something indescribably beautiful.”

Elithien allowed the Prince to enjoy for several more minutes before beckoning him to follow her. “Come. We are not quite finished. I promise it won’t be far from here.”

They continued through the mountains, staying around the same altitude much to Thranduil’s relief, though the further they travelled in, the more humid it became. After slipping through a narrow crevice, they were greeted with ponds of thermal springs, the different levels functioning as gentle waterfalls. A plume of steam blew in their direction when the wind slipped through the draft.

“Welcome to Harlindon’s secret treasure,” Elithien grinned. She stepped aside to allow Thranduil to explore the natural wonder. “Actually, it is more like my secret. Only my mother, Halloth and her brother know about this.”

“Halloth has a brother?” Thranduil asked curiously, advancing a few steps closer to the body of water.

“She never told you? Now that I think about it, you never had the chance to meet him. My mother informed me he is in Mithlond now, volunteering to aid the aftermath of the battle. Perhaps you will be lucky enough to catch him before we depart back for Greenwood.”

“I suppose I never asked. I always assumed it was only she and Maeldir. Now would be a wonderful time to let me know if you have any mystery siblings as well, if you have any?”

There was silence. Thranduil’s eyebrows furrowed, he turned as he spoke, “Lady Elithien?”

Before he could finish, he felt his chest heave all the wind from his lungs. His body curled from the force as he fell back into the hot water with a heavy splash. The spring was shallow enough to stand with his head above the water but the impact of the fall had him completely drenched.

He emerged from the pool, gasping in shock. The Prince struggled to move his long hair away from his face while Elithien burst into an endless fit of laughter. She clenched her stomach, barely able to stand as she wheezed. She couldn’t contain her tears.

“Oh, you should have seen the look on your face. I never knew you could make such an expression!”

Thranduil cursed in Silvan.

“ _Udûn_! Do you know how much of an inconvenience it is to have wet, long hair? Especially when it requires journeying all the way down a damned mountain.”  He grabbed the hem of his tunic and yanked it over his head to wring the water out before tossing it aside on the floor. He had little hope for it drying in time. Now shirtless and wet, he stood there grumbling as he attempted to comb his hair back and twisted it into a lazy braid to keep it from sticking on his body.

“Oh please. You will realise it was worth it,” Elithien smirked, holding back from bursting into laughter again. She could not tear her face away from his soured expression.

Thranduil exhaled sharply while working to wrench his boots off. He tilted it to pour the steaming water out before tossing it aside with the rest of his soiled clothing, and was down to only his trousers soon enough. Elithien could tell he was about to lash out in a lecture, but Thranduil was cut off as she began to remove her outer-garments in front of him.

“What--what are you doing?”

When she began shimmying out of her breeches, he hastily turned away from her.

“Are you out of your mind?” Thranduil stammered.

 

By that point, she was down to only a thin short slip. Elithien tiptoed to the edge and stepped into the water. She sighed as the warmth pricked her skin, sinking down until her body was fully submerged before rising up, her form exposed from waist up.

She could see Thranduil stiffen as she crept up to him.

“What? You think I came all the way up here to appreciate the spring by looking at it?” she said, casually letting her fingers glide over the surface of the inviting water. “Be realistic, this is a reward for our journey! I did say I would offer you a means of relaxation, did I not?”

“You are in your undergarments!” he exclaimed matter-of-factly.

Elithien rolled her eyes and stepped closer. “Would you prefer I take it off completely?”

“No!” Thranduil finally turned to her, frantically shaking his head. “No,’ he repeated more gently. “Knowing you, I would not doubt you would be bold enough to pull a stunt like that.”

Her eyes drifted to his that were purposefully locked to hers, never once shifting to anywhere else. She resumed whirling around while playfully exploring the pool. “Are you criticising me?”

“You have a wild spirit Elithien. A true Noldo.” he answered sternly.

“You _are_ criticising me.”

Thranduil shook his head. “Why did you honestly bring me up here?”

Elithien stiffened at his words. She pursed her lips and dropped her head. “Since my arrival in Greenwood, I tried to fight away the loneliness of being in a land so foreign to me. I thought coming East would bring me purpose and find a connection to my father. Being half-Sindarin I thought perhaps I would catch a glimpse of my father’s world. But the truth is I am too Noldo. Too different that everyone in Greenwood must think of me as a peculiar quendë with no real path. I have moved from my home, and soon, the only comfort I have left is about to wed you. With Halloth gone, I have nothing. Coming back to Lindon has made me realise how truly alone I feel.” Elithien forced herself to stop talking, realising she was suddenly opening up to the Prince. She didn’t even know why she did in the first place.

“You know that is not the case,” Thranduil said, his voice softening after each word. “You have proven you are certainly not another Noldo. Many have great respect for you. Volunteering at the first breath to aid your people—you may have the might of a Noldo but you have the loyalty of a Sindar. Few are fortunate to have someone who is as unique as you. If it is any consolation, you are always welcome in my home and, I hope to alleviate you of your loneliness with my company.”

His words began to thaw the icy shell Elithien had constructed around her heart to protect herself from her growing affections for the Prince. She mustered the strength to cling onto one last thread of defence, but just as the cold of the mountain had melted away in the heat of the springs, so did the ice surrounding her heart. The tears finally gave way. She dipped her chin closer to her chest, ashamed to be so vulnerable in front of the future King of the Woodland Realm like this.

A hand slipped through the curtain of her wet hair. Warm fingers tucked under her jaw before they raised her head back up. Her damp hair slid back.

The fear of her transparency left her shaking, embarrassed at exposing herself like this when she could not even admit it to herself. His expression was soft. Understanding. It showed no ridicule nor disappointment.

He spoke softly in Silvan, “I have never met a Noldo as wonderful as you.”

Elithien’s heart raced at his words, a hot flush of heat rushing from the tip of her pointed ears down to the sole of her feet. How was he so composed? She stretched a hand out and traced the fresh scar from his shoulder down to his sternum. A pinkish scab was forming, but still too new to repair the damaged tissue. Her fingernails grazing over his skin evoked a shudder from him. Her fingers located his heart, gently shifting to rest her entire palm on his chest.

His pulse was beating as vigorously as hers.

She glanced up in slow realisation. Her suspicions were confirmed when the fingers that still remained on her jaw readjusted to cradle her head. He drew her in. Thranduil dipped down, and all Elithien could feel was the soft, warm lips gingerly pressing against hers. Her eyelids fluttered closed, her body sinking into his touch. She moved her hand to wrap both arms around his neck, arching her back to level with the tall ellon, else she would have melted into the water with no strength left in her legs. She drew closer, wanting to explore him. To taste him. To learn him. His kiss was sweet, delicate, as if he were afraid if he went any further, he would break her. Thranduil pulled back and Elithien felt the comfort simmer away.

The Prince’s eyes were hazy, expression confused and face flushed. “I… s-sorry I did not mean to--”

With arms still locked around his neck, she pulled him back down and hungrily sought for his lips. She could not handle words right now. All she wanted was to _feel_ , to escape the guilt that was sure to follow. To remain in this moment, where the validation Thranduil had given her would remain untainted, and she would feel accepted, no—wanted, even. She anchored her head and prompted his hesitant lips apart. Her tongue slipped out and lightly ran over the edges of his teeth. A muffled moan escaped his lips.

His hands travelled down her body, from her waist all the way to her hips. He tugged her until their bodies were pressed together. The heat of their skin, her overwhelming emotions and the steamy waters left her lightheaded. It was all too much and too little at the same time.

 

Elithien was so agonisingly lonely, and Thranduil had been the most company she had so far. Their banters, even harsh, made her feel like she had a sense of purpose. It instigated conflict, debate and curiosity. Migrating to Greenwood, she had bid farewell to her mother. Thranduil had implied otherwise, but once spring arrived she worried Halloth would be too far of reach, understandably with the duties that come as an appointed Queen—that their relationship would change.

Halloth.

The guilt clawed on her legs, struggling to emerge from the water as she fought hard to drown it. It almost succeeded when she abruptly withdrew from Thranduil, her eyes wide as she frantically searched his face. She was looking to see if guilt had struck him too, or if a shadow of regret hid behind those striking crystal blue eyes. But she saw none. What she saw instead was sheer want. He gazed at her as if she was the only thing that mattered, completely mesmerised.

And like the guilt that begged to live, Elithien pulled him into the water, submerging them until all noise was silenced.

The guilt drowned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> udún - [Sindarin]: Hell


	7. Chapter 7

Travelling down the mountainous path was always easier than scaling the vertical trek. It was not the journey that troubled Elithien however, but her companion. Until now the elleth had never experienced something so painfully  _ awkward _ . After dressing from their rather intimate bath in the springs, Thranduil and Elithien remained a tangible distance from one another, both mentally and physically. Each spoke nothing of the act that had passed between them, even though she was certain they had a hundred things to say to each other. She knew she did. But all that remained between them was confusion and a numbness to the act. 

They finally made it back to town, after what felt like an eternity. Elithien, not wishing to occupy this awkward silence any longer, quickly dismissed herself from Thranduil, not allowing him a chance to respond before darting off. She only briefly dropped by her home to switch into fresh clothing, and immediately left again. 

The elleth felt like her chest was perpetually tightening. The longer she left herself festering in her thoughts, the more it felt like the guilt would consume her whole. She wandered into the woods, needing both space and seclusion to gather her thoughts. In times like these, song and dance had always been a way to cope with her trepidation. When she was far away from disturbing anyone, she took off her shoes, letting her bare feet connect to the very soul of the earth, wanting Yavanna’s touch to comfort her. The quendë closed her eyes and drew a long, slow breath. As she exhaled slowly, she began to sing.

With every word that echoed through the endless rows of elm, she moved her body from tree to tree, pouring out her soul to the forests. Her voice was pained and ashamed. Elithien knew what happened between Thranduil and her no longer could be dismissed the second time. It was real, and worse, mutual. The guilt she was initially able to push away, quickly crept back, the consequences of their actions clouding her mind further. 

She had no idea how she would face Halloth, having committed this act of infidelity towards her with her future husband, but also she knew that she could not restrain herself from her connection with Thranduil. Her feet carried her in circles, spinning so fast the woods blurred into a canvas of brown and red. Eventually, she fell onto a large patch of grass. Her voice gradually faded into silence and there, she was completely alone, staring up to the empty grey skies. She did not know how to battle with her own heart, no matter how much she tried to justify her actions from the values she held quite religiously. 

The elleth brought her hands to her face and wept.

 

**☽**   


 

Elithien stirred at the comforting smell of chamomile tea wafting through the air. She blinked awake slowly, expecting to see the night skies but only a beige ceiling stood in its place. She rose, feeling the soft press of fabric around her. She looked around as she rubbed her eyes. 

She was at home.

The quendë left her bed and took a robe before entering the living room. The scent of freshly baked bread and herbal tea filled the air. Her stomach grumbled in response. She combed her hair back and yawned. 

Aurë appeared from the kitchen and laid several dishes on the table. “At last you awake,” her mother spoke. 

Elithien walked over to the dining table and sat down. She felt disoriented, a great uneasiness swirling in her stomach. While she was in the confines and protection of her home, waking up with no recollection of arriving the night before had left her mind shaken. She tiredly picked a berry from the bowl but instead conceded to her thoughts. “How did I get home?”

Aurë joined her daughter and began placing bread on Elithien’s plate. “Eat first. You need the energy for the journey back. It will be full winter by the time you arrive.”

Elithien picked a roll and took a bite. “It will not be for another week before we depart.”

Aurë seemed to have given up on the subject and remained silent while she ate. 

After a moment in between eating, she attempted to change the topic. “Enjoyed your stroll yesterday, Tindaurë?” her mother asked.

The silver maiden choked on her food, coughing before clumsily downing a glass of water. She swallowed and groaned from the discomfort of her food slowly sliding down her esophagus.  _ Did she know? _

Aurë raised her eyebrow. “You were in the forests singing were you not?”

Elithien stared at her before she realised Aurë was not referring to the mountains. She sighed in relief. “Y-Yes, Amil. It was lovely indeed. I needed the space.”

Her mother hummed in agreement and did not speak again until after they finished their meal. As she picked up their plates and stacked them, Aurë said, “It was Thranduil.”

Elithien looked perplexed. “What?” 

“To answer your question earlier. It was Oropher’s son that came knocking on my door with you completely out cold. He said he found you sleeping on a meadow. He would have let you be had it not begun to rain heavily. You barely moved an inch.” 

Red flushed the silver maiden’s cheeks in embarrassment. “I must have been exhausted.”

“All the more reasons to eat more. You need to gather your strength.”

When Aurë disappeared to the kitchen, Elithien groaned and rubbed her face. What would her mother ever think of her, the Prince carrying her ditzy daughter back home? What would she think if she found out she had been _ kissing _ the Prince who was engaged to someone else? The quendë rose and gathered the remaining plates. She swallowed the thick guilt that weighed sharply on her mind and walked to the kitchen.

 

**☽**   


 

The lack of urgency to return to Greenwood resulted in a lengthy journey back. Elithien kept her horse at a cantering pace, feeling the sack strung around her back, tugging her shoulder every time it bounced. The contents inside were all filled by Aurë. 

On the day they had departed, her mother did not let Elithien go empty-handed. Her favourite foods, a couple of books she was interested in reading, a boon for King Oropher, and a letter she had yet to read, were all neatly packed inside the bag. The second sack resting behind her saddle was filled with more goods and clothing.

Her heart clenched the further away they journeyed, missing her mother dearly with each passing moment. It was hard to leave home when she did not know when she would return to visit again. The elleth forced the tears away and pursed her lips. She beckoned her horse to the back of the group, then brought the sack to her front, rummaging through the neatly packed bag and searching for her mother’s envelope. When she pulled out the letter, its corners crinkled from the contents of her bag rotating on the envelope, she opened it.

_ Tindaurë,  _

_ I can see the struggle of love in your eyes. It is unfortunate your heart has led you to an ellon that is to be bound to someone else.  _

_ I will also say the same for him. I have lived many years to know what love coming into fruition looks like. He is more invested in you than you think, and your reciprocated feelings towards him only mean it will inevitably flourish.  _

_ While I am happy that my daughter has found someone she cares about, and one who cares for my daughter as well, be careful how you proceed. I worry it will end in pain over happiness should you pursue this.  _

_ Blessings,   
_ _ Amil _

The letter was crumpling before Elithien was able to finish reading the sign-off. Her mother knew. Of course, she did. Aurë always had a keen intuition, and her unintentional tryst with Thranduil would not have gone unnoticed by her. The elleth was surprised by her mother’s response, expecting to have been reprimanded for her actions, but she only showed concern instead. Aurë simply worried over her daughter’s happiness, and conversely, this only made Elithien feel infinitely worse. She did not deserve any of her understanding and unconditional love. 

 

**☽**   


 

They were now only a few days away from Greenwood’s borders, and since the visit to Erid Luin, Elithien had not spoken to Thranduil. She thought it would remain that way as neither had approached the other, not even in the passing discussion of the journey’s logistics for their return. The closer they came to Amon Lanc however, the more she struggled to let this avoidance of one another remain.

As they were resting, to allow their horses to feed and drink, Elithien decided it was now or never. She walked up to the Prince, unsure of how to even confront the matter, but she felt in her gut it must be done.

“Prince Thranduil--” she started, but the ellon cut her off and gestured her to follow him. She obeyed, walking over the uneven ground until they were lengths away from the campsite.

“Whatever you need to say, I would ask you to allow me to speak first,” Thranduil said, facing her as he clasped his hands behind his back. She tried to study his body language but only saw his usual stoic regality. Elithien nodded and allowed him to continue. “I am no longer going to keep ignoring this.  _ Us _ . What we first shared during the Harvest Festival may have been a mistake because of the lack of clarity we both had, but I will not believe what happened in Erid Luin was an accident. I need to know what your intentions are because we are barely miles away from Amon Lanc and I need to know how to go forward. You say we shall never speak of what transpired that night, nor ever entertain the idea of us, yet you have openly contradicted yourself, and so have I. It seems neither of us is keeping our word, and I tire of being unsure how to handle our emotions towards one another anymore.” 

She swallowed, her fingernails digging into her palm. He was right. “Thranduil, you know what we did was wrong.” She shook her head and corrected herself. “What  _ I _ did was wrong. To my own friend, whom I consider the blood of my blood. I can see in her eyes she is infatuated by you and here I am, indulging in something I am completely ashamed of. And yet, for whatever insane and foolish mind I have, I still acted upon it.” 

Thranduil remained silent for a moment, digesting her words before taking a step forward. Elithien remained still. She gazed up at the ellon’s unreadable eyes. She was expecting that this would be the end of it. Whatever vague relationship they had, it ended now.

“I want  _ you _ ,” he said.

The quendë felt the blood drain from her head. She bit her lips and shook her head. It hurt even thinking about it. “You know we cannot.” 

The hard lines on his face melted into something pained. It was the first time she had seen him so vulnerable. She read a thousand words in that one look over everything he had just said. Thranduil’s expression was almost pleading.

“Do you wish for me to leave you then?” he asked, his voice weak, as was his conviction.

She knew this was her final choice. Her last chance to take a step back, and save what integrity she had remaining, not only with herself but with the entire Kingdom of Greenwood. If she didn’t take it, she was going to fall into a deep hole, one she had no idea if she could return from. But Thranduil would be true to his word: if she said yes, it would be the end of everything between them.  

Elithien held her breath for as long as she could, willing all the noise away in her head. The Prince simply gazed at her as he waited for her answer. It must have been a dreadful several minutes of simply standing in silence until she reached for his hand and clasped it in her own. She gave it a gentle squeeze and shook her head.

“Never.”


	8. Chapter 8

Upon their arrival at Amon Lanc, Elithien’s reaction to seeing Halloth had been both happiness and remorse. The Princess stood at the front of the palace gates with her father, King Oropher, and the countless other elves who were anxious to see their friends and families’ safe return. When Elithien dismounted from her steed, she felt immediate relief when Halloth rushed towards her, arms in an open embrace--however Halloth’s affection was not aimed at the elleth, and she darted past the quendë and shamelessly crashed into Thranduil. 

He looked taken aback at her forwardness, but eventually returned her embrace. Elithien dropped her gaze to the ground and tugged the reigns of her horse to walk off, jealousy pooling in her stomach. She couldn’t deny she was envious of their freedom to express affection for one another.

As she made to leave, it was instead King Oropher who approached her, welcoming her back with a cordial smile. Elithien bowed and returned it courteously.

“It is a pleasure to see you again,” she said to the King. “I will hand you the reports of our expedition as soon as I am finished recording them.” 

Oropher only shook his head. “Take as much time as you require to heal, think of work only after you are well-rested.” 

It was then Elithien recalled her mother’s gift to Oropher, and pulled her sack to her front, reaching through the opening. She took out the velvet-wrapped boon and handed it to Thranduil’s father. “This is from my mother Aurë. She wished for you to have this.”

His eyes softened at the gesture, accepting the gift with gratitude. “I must write a letter to Aurë for this. Thank you for your care in delivering  it to me.”

Elithien found his shift in mood odd, wondering exactly was the nature of her mother and Oropher’s relationship. “Forgive me if it is not my place to ask, but may I know how you and my mother knew one another?”

Oropher clasped his hands together. “I first met your mother a long time ago, during a summit held in Doriath. You and Thranduil had yet to arrive in this world. Our friendship carried on for centuries. For a time my son and I inhabited Lindon. You were only a child then and my son barely able to stand on his feet.”

Elithien nodded in agreement. “It is a vague memory but I do recall your visit.”

Oropher continued, “It was Aurë that insisted that we be guests in your village. We were meant to stay in Mithlond but your mother was not having any of it. As expected from a Noldo.”

Elithien huffed a grin, “we take pride in our persistent hospitality.”

Oropher offered her a grin in return before beckoning Maeldir to follow him. “Now, if you will excuse me, I would much desire to see my son again.” 

Elithien bowed at Oropher before leaving. Through her peripheral vision, she caught the King and Prince exchanging an embrace. The King gestured them to head inside, and Thranduil took Halloth’s hand as she drew closer to him. Elithien bit her lip and tore her gaze away. The elleth nudged her horse and escorted her steed to the stables.

 

**☽**

 

It snowed that evening. It was the first snowfall Elithien had witnessed in Greenwood, and she wondered if she had missed any others during her time away. She opened the balcony doors of her quarters and stepped outside. The cold breeze welcomed her with a gust of wind. She closed her eyes and revelled at the moment, ignoring the snow gathering on her hair and shoulders. It was moments like these she was grateful for. The scenery had provided a pleasant distraction she needed from the quiet whispers of doubt circling through her mind, the image of Thranduil and Halloth walking arm in arm continuing to taunt her.

Not wanting the snow to enter into the living room, she stepped inside and pulled the door shut. Elithien crossed the living room to the kitchen, suddenly desiring a pot of tea. While she waited for some water to boil, she went to change into her nightwear and unwrapped her braids. Elithien took her time, selecting a lavender oil from an assortment of lotions neatly organised on a wooden tray. Removing the glass cork, she gently began rubbing it over her arms, gliding down her clavicle, then along her shoulders. Elithien picked the nightgown that hung over her sofa and donned it, crossing her arms as she rubbed them soothingly. While Oropher had insisted she put work aside, she felt getting it done sooner was better than later, especially while her memory was still fresh. It was also a great way to keep her mind off Thranduil and Halloth, wherever they may be, whatever they may be doing.

When the teapot was ready, she rose from her vanity table and returned to the kitchen, pouring herself a cup and then sitting behind the desk located by the wall. The elleth gathered a stack of blank pages, then selected a long quill followed by a bottle of ink. She drew an inhale and began recording the events of the last month. 

 

**☽**

 

Several hours passed. The quendë could begin to feel a strain pulling on her back and a cramp in her writing hand. She allowed herself to take a break, moving off her seat to refill her teapot with a fresh brew of water. Elithien selected an arrangement of dried leaves and flowers her mother specially crafted--one of the many items Aurë had packed for her. She glanced at her desk and the two uneven piles of paper. Still had a long way to go. 

She walked up to the balcony and gazed through the frosted glass while she waited for the tea to steep. The snowstorm had lightened to a gentle flurry, but the night was still heavy. It would be hours till dawn. The elleth noticed her reflection and saw her own wistful eyes staring back at her. She did not like it.

As Elithien reached for the teapot, she heard a knock on the door. 

She squinted. Who would disturb her at this late hour of the night? The knock persisted again, more frantically than before, and the sudden intuition of danger had her reaching for the kitchen knife and holding it behind her back.

It was when the knock was bordering on a loud bang, that she decided to see who was there. Elithien cursed under her breath as she wrenched the door open. “ _ What _ ?” She snapped. 

Thranduil stood in front of her, eyes watered with exhaustion, hair in disarray, his crown crooked, and his expression in a prominent scowl. He was certainly not dressed in his usual prim and proper way, not when his robe was practically dangling open, hanging from only one shoulder. The elleth sighed when she realised there was no imminent danger. “It is quite late, Thranduil. Is there something the matter?”

Thranduil grumbled incoherently, the ellon entering her quarters without invitation. When he passed, he lightly tapped on the knife she still held behind her back. She rolled her eyes at his unnecessary implication that he was a lot more observant than he appeared. Elithien closed the door, returning the knife, then followed after Thranduil who seemingly began searching her room. She folded her arms and watched him scavenge through her furniture. For a moment, it appeared more amusing than intrusive. 

“Have you been drinking?” She asked, walking up to him before stilling the restless ellon and prompting him to take a seat. “Watching you circle around my room like a lunatic is making me dizzy. Ilúvatar bless me, tell me what is upsetting you.”

Thranduil fell back on his seat. 

“I do not want to marry Halloth.”

Elithien’s stomach sank. She moved to take her teapot and a new cup, deciding it was Thranduil was in more need of it than she was. At the noise of glass knocking against wood, she whipped her head around and saw the Prince had moved off to the shelf arranged with decanters of various liquor. He had taken one and returned back to his seat. Before Thranduil could take a gulp, Elithien swiftly confiscated the bottle from his hand and replaced it with a teacup. Thranduil grumbled under his breath, taking a reluctant sip, before setting it down on the table. He shifted to bury his face his hands instead. She looked at him sympathetically. Thranduil was a mess.

“You know it is your royal duty, Thranduil,” she reminded him gently. The elleth stretched a hand, hesitating before lightly placing it on his bowed back. He responded with his shoulders slackening. “Has something happened tonight to cause you to be so upset?”

Thranduil lifted his head and glanced at the tea, though he did not take it. “I kissed her.”

Elithien felt her chest tighten. When he made no further comment, she persisted, desirous of more information. Information she was unsure she wanted to hear. “And?”

The Prince sat upright, Elithien’s hand sliding away as his nostrils flared from his heavy sighs. He did not meet her gaze. “Throughout our time together, I thought of Lady Halloth as kind and endearing. She was wholeheartedly willing to make this process one less of only diplomatic duty, and turn it into something more. Something dear and loving. I thought it had been working…” his words drifted off to thoughtful silence before continuing, “but when I kissed her tonight, it only confirmed that all of my sentiments toward her were false, only projections of feeling.”

Elithien was torn. She felt anger on behalf of her friend, for Thranduil feigning affection when Halloth was not, but she also felt relief. Relief to know that his heart had not been swayed by another. The elleth swallowed, struggling to remain pragmatic about the circumstances. “Sometimes we must make sacrifices for the greater good. Perhaps over time, you may come around to it. Think of this marriage as political advocacy in the benefit of the Kingdom. The Silvan will thrive in this alliance, one that may be greatly needed in the unknown future.”

Thranduil grit his teeth before he reached over to Elithien’s side of the table, and swiped her bottle.“Thranduil!” she huffed angrily in Quenya, “You are drunk enough.”

“I do not understand you Elithien,” he said, taking several gulps from the bottle and then setting it back down. He wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand before meeting her gaze. “You are persistent in maintaining the integrity of the crown and its people, yet you have consistently contradicted yourself through your actions.”

Elithien felt her heart stammer, startled by his accusation, but also by the truth of the statement. She was unable to respond to his comment, admitting her guilt with silence. 

Thranduil shook his head and reached for the elleth’s hand, delicately taking it by the wrist and raising it to his face. He shifted his head and nuzzled his lips against her palm before kissing it gently. Elithien shuddered. His eyes darted to meet hers while her hand was still fixed on his lips.

“We had this discussion before we came to Amon Lanc, and I have not forgotten it.” He lifted his head after speaking and straightened his back before releasing her. “Have you?”

There was so much pain in his every movement the more she realised with every breath. She sat in silence, feeling the remnants of his kiss burn into her palm. The warmth spread all the way to her cheeks, and whether Thranduil had done this knowingly or not, it had completely shaken her defensive nature. 

“No,” she confessed. “I meant it when I said I never want you to leave me.” Elithien paused for a moment, letting a cold draft of air roam around them as she searched for the courage in herself to admit the truth. She knew Thranduil could see it in her eyes and he waited patiently. The elleth drew a deep breath and spoke in his dialect, deciding she wanted him to understand exactly what she meant than have it lost in translation. “I pray to Elbereth to forgive my trespassings, and the hurt I already have caused but I cannot lie to my heart no longer.”

It wasn’t the most direct answer, but it was enough for Thranduil to understand her implication. The Prince shifted closer, his hand reaching up to brush her loose locks away. She could smell the strong liquor lingering on his breath and was unsure how aware he was of his words, or if his actions would remain true when sober. Thranduil allowed his gaze to linger, and she was reminded then that she wore only a slip and a nightgown in his presence. She blushed and combed her hair forward to cover more of her figure, despite having been far more exposed in front of him already. This situation felt different. At Erid Luin, her turbulent emotions overcame her. All thought of consequence and guilt were shoved aside, and instead, the dire need of comfort and physical contact won out in that very delicate moment. However, sitting together without the rush of blind desire and her mind clear, made her all the more aware of the situation, and her inexperience with it.

When she diverted her head, Thranduil simply ducked down to match her level, and gently prompted her chin up to look at him again. In his gentlest voice, he replied, “How perfect the world would be had you been my bride instead.” 

Such a declaration left Elithien defeated. Words spoken so beautifully, as if they were a perfect melody falling from his lips. She reached up to caress his cheeks as she shifted her weight forward, leaning in to kiss him. Her actions had the Prince sinking into the sofa, allowing the elleth to move forward and rest her body against his. Thranduil pulled her closer and anchored his head to return her kiss.

 

 

 

 

He tasted of wine, and flavours she did not recognise apart from within her bottle. She wondered how many others had he drank before coming to her quarters. Had the drinking been a means to wallow in his plight or the courage to admit his reluctance of marriage? She was not alone in this dilemma, as with every step they took forward in their relationship, consequences should their secret be revealed, were sure to follow.

Thranduil pushed himself up, and Elithien slipped into his lap. Straddling the Prince, she snaked her arms around his neck while absentmindedly fiddling with strands of his hair. He drew back from her lips, head resting on her forehead as he drew several shallow breaths.

“Why is it when I kiss Halloth, I feel nothing but a pair of warm lips against mine, but when it is with you, it feels as though I am falling deeper under the spell of your affection?” 

She tucked the weight of her hair away, no longer afraid to expose herself to him, both mentally and physically. Thranduil gazed at the elleth with hazy eyes. “You are the first quendë I have ever kissed,” she confessed. “I would not know.” 

“You are my first as well,” Thranduil replied. “On Erid Luin, that was the first time I have ever shared a kiss. I know as little of intimacies as you. I, however, do not regret it.” 

The elleth answered him by finding his lips again, parched from the absence of him. She drew closer and nipped, evoking a deep sound from the ellon. Thranduil responded with his fingers trailing from her shoulders, her robe slipping down and exposing her arms. She felt her hairs raise from the sensation, and Thranduil continued to brush his knuckles over her slip, up to her decolletage and finally, rested his palm on her beating heart. These were all sensations Elithien had never experienced before, a thrill that she could only perceive as arousal. Though Thranduil had been careful to avoid her breasts, the proximity of his hand was already leaving her quivering with pleasure. 

“Forgive me. I did not mean to disrobe you like this,” Thranduil whispered. Elithien’s eyes fluttered open to see Thranduil reaching for the sleeves of her nightgown. He pulled it back over her shoulders. Though in a dim room, she could vividly see the redness of his heated face and knew hers was burning just as much. The silver maiden straightened and adjusted the robe to cover herself properly. She brushed her hair that had fallen again. Thranduil simply watched her in silence as she fixed herself.   
  
“You look beautiful, Síloril,” he said.   
  
Elithien paused halfway from combing her hair and perked in intrigue at his words. “Síloril?” She repeated.    
  
“It means ‘she who shines’ in Silvan. It is a name I had secretly given you before Halloth told me what you were called. It would be inappropriate to have addressed you otherwise.”   
  
She shifted to rest her cheek on his shoulder, lips softly brushing against his neck. “Why do you confess it now?”   
  
He leaned back to lie down and beckoned Elithien into his arms. “I did not realise I had expressed it aloud until the words already left my mouth.”   
  
The elleth mused over his statement before pushing her arms up and hovered over him. “‘Elithien Tindaurë Síloril’,” she hummed an agreeing tune. “I like it.”   
  
Thranduil responded with a gentle smile, “Then let me kiss you again, Síloril.”


	9. Chapter 9

A crack of sunlight streamed through the curtains fairly early that particular morning. Elithien stirred, humming comfortably as her eyelids fluttered open from deep slumber. Her gaze wandered around her bed, her body perfectly content from under the covers for another several minutes. Upon lifting the sheets to cover her exposed arms, she noticed the imprint on the other side of the mattress. The elleth stretched a hand and laid her palm against the surface. It still felt warm.

Though it was unwise for the Prince to stay in her quarters late at night with the possibility of drawing suspicion of other passersby, he had remained with her anyway. After what felt like hours of kissing Thranduil--a wonderful several hours might she add--they moved to her bed, their exhaustion giving way as they slipped into the sheets. For the rest of the evening, until sleep gave way, she had curled up in his arms, relishing the sound of his heartbeat against her pointed ear. All they did was talk in low murmurs. They shared plenty of stories, from their youth to one particular anecdote when Thranduil admitted to lacing his father’s drink with a herb that was potent as a muscle relaxant. Though he was not proud of his former youth to have committed such an act towards Oropher, he did not regret subduing his father for one week when his father would not stop complaining over the colour of the bannisters. It was stories like these that allowed her to see another light to Thranduil, a side she wondered if he shared with others. 

Recalling his stories, a smile formed on her lips. Elithien chuckled when she thought of another tale he shared when he befriended a fox, though she never recalled how it ended. Presuming she had fallen asleep by then. 

Elithien shifted onto the empty space and buried her face in it. She revelled in his musky scent that still lingered. Then she reached for the pillow above her head and hugged it between her arms and legs, her eyelids becoming heavy before drifting back to slumber. 

 

**☽**   


 

Standing at the edge of the palace’s path along the courtyard--a week later--Elithien gazed at the landscape blanketed in heaps of snow. The elleth was brimming with excitement, for the view in front of her was nothing like anything she had ever seen before. It was her first experience of winter away from home, and she was delighted by its beauty. Though most of the trees had become dormant during the cool months, the various species of evergreen pines still stood grandly in place, fresh snow sitting on every row of their branches. Though there were few elves outside, Elithien cared not if she were the only quendë outdoors. She could spend her whole day outside during this season.

The elleth hovered her shoe over the untouched snow before sinking it with a satisfying crunch. She lightly kicked the covered ground before excitedly running over to a snow pile. Elithien dipped her hands into the small hill, gathered as much as she could hold and then tossing it into the air. She knew it was childish to run around and play, but she allowed herself to have this moment before the responsibility of adulthood, and the eyes of other quendi, returned upon her.

Elithien had almost forgotten her original intention of coming to the courtyard until the reason for it stood in front of the entrance. The silver maiden, now kneeling down, rose up and dusted off the flakes from her velvet cloak. She stifled her giggles and composed herself, though she could not avoid smiling.

“I see you are having a rather lovely day, Lady Elithien,” the Prince called out before stepping into the snow. He walked towards her.

She forced herself to maintain proper manners but halfway through clearing her throat, her snickers escaped. “Forgive me, my Prince. Winter brings me great joy, especially for moments like these.”

Thranduil offered a brief smile in return. “Most prefer the spring or summer, but winter most certainly suits you,” he clasped his hands behind his back. “I did not mean to disrupt your enjoyment.”

Elithien shook her head. “You called to meet here after all. What is it you wish to speak about?”

Thranduil gestured here towards the gate, “if you may please follow me, there is something important I need to show you.”

The elleth nodded curtly, her playfulness drifting back to a more sombre mood, and followed after the Prince as he began walking off. Though when she passed the edge of the frozen fountain, she flicked her fingers over the surface and watched the snowflakes float into the breeze with amusement.

 

**☽**   


 

Thranduil had not spoken a word, his usual stern expression giving way from his earlier, calmer look. Elithien did not question him, expecting that she needed to keep a sharp eye for whatever business needed to be deliberated upon. The Prince led her into the woods, journeying for about an hour or two through a winding path Elithien did not recognise. When they were well away from Amon Lanc, the ellon reached for Elithien’s hand and took it.

The silver maiden glanced down at their now entwined hands, and then up at Thranduil. His unexpected yet sweet gesture left her cheeks tinged with a telling blush. “There is no important business to show me, is there?”

Thranduil merely grinned. “I never said it was for business.”

Elithien gave his hand a squeeze before returning her gaze to the path ahead. Her heartbeat felt rapid, excitement swimming in her chest. She never thought she could openly share physical affections with the Prince unless it was behind closed doors. The vast and endless trees surrounding them gave her a sense of freedom, to allow herself to enjoy Thranduil’s company without the fear of being discovered.

The quendë gingerly released his hand and then glided her fingertips along his arm until it rested on the crease of his elbow. She curled her arms around him and relaxed her head on the edge of his shoulder. With his free hand, Thranduil reached over and gave her knuckles a soft brush. 

“The truth is I had intended to take you to the palace’s greenhouse, but seeing you so filled with joy outdoors, I decided to bring you here instead.”

“I did not realise Amon Lanc had a greenhouse,” Elithien said. She was elated by this discovery. “Had I known earlier, I would have loved to research several plants for my studies. I am sure your greenhouse would be filled with species I have read about in Greenwood’s library.”

“Then it is yours to use,” Thranduil answered casually. “You may find it in the west wing of the palace.” 

“I have not explored much of the west wing. It is reserved for only members of the monarch or those appointed,” Elithien said.

“It will be rectified once we return. I will speak with the guards on the ground floor to grant you free passage.”

“Will Oropher not mind if I enter beyond the public premises?”

Thranduil shrugged. “The ground floor is mostly reserved for courtyards and gardens. He would not pay mind to you being there.” 

“So if the greenhouse is no longer our plan, then where is it we are heading?”

The Prince gestured at the fork in the path, beckoning her to head down the rocky slopes on the left. At the bottom of steps she realised where he had taken her. Elithien released him and examined the area before turning to him. “This is the elk sanctuary, is it not?”

Thranduil nodded. “Most have left for the winter, but there may be a few that remain.” 

The elleth scanned the clearing but saw nothing but rows of snow-covered pine trees. She carefully treaded closer, keeping her footsteps light so not to disturb any wildlife nearby. However, there was nothing but the icy breeze carrying snow into the air. 

Thranduil made a disappointed noise and followed after her. “Perhaps we may not have been so lucky. I am sorry--”

“--Wait,” she murmured, stilling Thranduil while keeping her sight fixed between the trees. The Prince froze in place. No sooner had they stopped, a shadowed figure moved. The quendë squinted her eyes until she could make out a flicker of white. Under her breath, she cast a spell in Quenya, whispering as quietly as she could. 

“Let it be known that we are friends of Oromë.”

The wind carried her voice into the direction of the mysterious silhouette. The figure disappeared, much to Elithien’s dismay, but just as she was about to inform Thranduil that it was likely she had scared off the last occupants, heavy footsteps trotting through the snow. A grand, white elk emerged from the woods, steadily making its way towards them. It stopped a few feet away from Thranduil and Elithien. The creature was magnificent, far larger than the one Elithien first encountered last autumn. With antlers so grand, she could believe this elk was a messenger of the Valar. It gazed warily at them.

Carefully, Elithien approached the elk, continuing to whisper words of reassurance that they were not predators. The bull puffed a wary noise but did not flee. When Elithien was inches away, she slowly reached out, and when the elk made no sign of retaliation, she rested her hand upon his snout. Elithien relaxed as a smile formed on her lips. “He is beautiful.”

Thranduil joined Elithien, though he remained a space away so not to overwhelm the elk too early. “A fine creature indeed.”

The elleth leaned to its ear and whispered into it. The elk shook its head and Elithien straightened. She turned to look at Thranduil as she beckoned him to come closer. “Go ahead. It was you who gave them a haven after all.”

Thranduil swallowed. He took the last couple of steps until he was beside Elithien and reached up to gently stroke its smooth coat. Elithien took a few steps back and allowed the two to bond.

“He has chosen you,” she said. 

Thranduil examined its body after tracing the intricate details of his antlers. “I am honoured then.” 

She nodded at its back. “You may mount him, if you like.”

“Truly?” he asked inquisitively, tearing his gaze to check for her assurance. She nodded. Thranduil studied the elk, gliding his hand down its shoulder before giving it a heavy pat. The Prince hauled himself over and settled on its back with a grunt. Thranduil grinned. “I have never ridden an elk before.” 

Elithien walked up to them and tilted her head back to smirk at Thranduil, “you have only mounted it. However, I do believe we can go for a ride right now.” Thranduil offered a hand, but Elithien gathered her skirt and managed to ascend onto the elk with little difficulty, settling comfortably behind Thranduil. 

He peered over his shoulder. “You best hold on tight. Without a saddle, the ride will not be smooth.”

Elithien snaked her arms around the ellon’s waist and secured herself. She nodded when she was ready. Thranduil kicked off. The elk wailed and galloped away.

 

**☽**   


 

Elithien watched the trees distort into a blur, flashes of sun rays streaming between the trunks. She did not know where they journeyed to, but at the moment, she did not care. Spending time with Thranduil alone and free of discovery was a dream, one that she would cherish every second of. The elleth squeezed Thranduil’s waist as she rested her cheek on his back.

The sun was setting by the time they exited what felt like an endless forest into a clearing, completely covered in deep layers of snow. Because of the elk’s size, it ploughed through the snowy path with greater ease than a horse would, covering far more distance. Further ahead, Elithien noticed a stream travelling down the landscape. It was this direction Thranduil brought her to, gradually halting his mount until it came to a complete stop.

“We are here,” Thranduil announced, descending from the elk and offering his hand to Elithien again, persistent as he may ever be.

She accepted this time, to spare him from the constant rejection of his aid, and slid off with his steady arms supporting her. When they were both on the ground, Thranduil walked around to a bush and pulled off a branch filled with wild berries. He brought it to the elk.

“Will you ride it in future?” Elithien asked.

“I think I will,” Thranduil nodded, dusting off his hands when the creature finished eating. It was clear to Elithien that the Prince had quickly grown fond of the divine creature, watching him give its neck a soothing rub.

“I am sure  _ Alato _ will happily ride with you too,” she said, glancing up at the darkening skies that were now cast with clouds.

“ _ Alato _ ?” Thranduil repeated with a curious expression.

“It means, ‘great one’ in Quenya. It is the name I decided it was worth giving,” she answered.

The Prince turned to the bull. “I hope you may wait for us, Alato. Without you, it is a long walk to the palace by foot.”

“He will stay. He knows,” Elithien reassured Thranduil. She took his hand and guided him to face the open plains. “It is a remarkable view.”

“I used to love coming here for solitude. I would read books, take long naps or sometimes simply stargaze,” he said while prompting her for a short stroll around the field. Her heart softened at the notion the Prince would share a personal sentiment with her, one she suspected no one else knew about.

“Will it be alright for you to be away from the palace for so long?” Her face fell to a worried look. “I mean, I worry someone will wonder where you are, or maybe even where I—”

Thranduil interrupted her and tugged her towards him, halting her anxious tirade.“Hush now, Síloril. I do not wish for you to concern yourself with these worries right now. I only desire to spend time with you. Let us have this moment, even if it is fleeting.”

The name Thranduil had gifted her sent a welcoming sensation through her body. It felt like magic weaved into his words, leaving her breathless and enchanted. It was the name that made Elithien his, and proof to her that what they shared together was real.

“Okay,” she agreed. “Just us.”

 

**☽**   


 

Elithien had her head cradled comfortably in the crook of Thranduil’s shoulder, her fingertips absentmindedly brushing over his chest in a sweeping motion, while the ellon combed through her silver locks in a calming manner. They had been lying on the snowy grounds, using their cloaks as a blanket while they relished each other’s company, basking comfortably in their silence.

However, she knew Thranduil was becoming restless in their lounging. It was not something he revealed to her, but she noticed his dimples gracing his countenance whenever he grimaced. The elleth had ignored it for a tolerable length, but after a while, she no longer could keep her thoughts silent. “What is troubling you, Thranduil?”

The ellon sighed. “I was hoping the clouds would give way to the starry night. It is a shame you cannot see how ethereal the skies become.”

Elithien studied the view above. The most she could see was the moonlight diffused from the clouds. She hummed in deep thought before pushing herself off Thranduil and sat up. “I may try something.”

Thranduil mimicked her action and was upright as well, intrigued at her suggestion of an act that he believed was beyond their control. Elithien closed her eyes as she began to chant in Quenya, recalling all that her mother had taught her. She drew her hand towards the sky and cast it to reveal itself. 

At first, it seemed the clouds were merely moving as they normally would, but soon after, they parted and gave way to a sight that Elithien could not believe as she fluttered her eyes open.

“Oh Elentári,” she gasped, the elleth becoming speechless as she watched the strange but mesmerising beauty of dancing lights in colours of purple, teal and bright green. 

“How did you do that?” Thranduil asked in bewilderment, but Elithien’s attention was completely focused on what was above her. When he received no response, he decidedly closed his mouth and allowed her to appreciate the spectacle.

The quendë did not know how long she had been staring, but the strain of her head tilting back for a long while was enough to finally pull her away and resume her attention to the Prince. “Do what?”

“ _ That _ ,” he gestured at the clear starry and illuminating skies. 

“Magic,” she answered flatly. 

Thranduil grumbled and shook his head. “I know that. But  _ how _ ?”

“It takes practice,” she said as she rose from their makeshift mat and stretched. “It mostly comes naturally to me. Sometimes I just  _ know _ . My studies on it only aid me further to understand what is in me—what is in us.”

“I never had any skill to bring it forth of my own will. The most magical phenomenon I have experienced were all passive experiences.”

“I can teach you what I know, though most of my studies and spells are in Old Quenya. Even for myself, I struggle to understand certain passages.”

Thranduil nodded keenly. “That only means I need a while to study on the language of the Vanyar.”

When Elithien was content with her stretch, she relaxed and began removing her shoes. “I hope you do not mind.”

Thranduil shook his head, curiosity sparking from her actions. “not at all.”

The elleth set the outer layers of her ensemble aside and stepped into the snow with her bare feet. She stretched her arms and drew a long and slow breath. When she exhaled, she began to sing. 

Letting her feet take her wherever they led her, she submitted her body to the earth and the Lady of the Stars, offering her song and soul to the goddess whom she worshipped more than any Power of the Valar. The snow scattered as she created a path while swaying through it. She whirled around and glanced at Thranduil--his gaze was completely fixated on her. Her voice echoed far into the skies, and she hoped the wind would carry her song to the moon before reaching to the Undying Lands of Arda. 

When the Prince stood, Elithien walked up to him. When she halted in front of the ellon, her voice softened into a finishing note and ended in a hum.

Thranduil brought his hands to her cheeks and caressed her. “I would trade every night of these evening skies if it meant I could watch and hear you sing like that again.”

Elithien blushed. The elleth allowed the weight of her head to lean into his caress and nuzzled into his hand. She smiled. “You have offered me more compliments than I deserve.”

Thranduil pulled her in and enveloped her in his oversized robe, drawing her body closer. “Síloril,” he breathed.

Her hands found its way to his that rested on her cupped cheeks. “Say my name again,” she whispered.

“Síloril,” Thranduil said, exhaling every syllable until his mouth found her lips. He brushed a chaste kiss against them. Elithien breathed out a soft noise. Thranduil anchored her head and dipped between her neck, her hair curtaining over him as his lips lightly brushed across her skin, tracing over the contours of her veins until he pressed a firm kiss on her pulse. She could only sigh in bliss while letting her head fall back. The Prince chose to glide to the corner of her mouth and left trails of kisses until he caught her lips with his.

Elithien cherished every second, lost in his deep embrace, because she knew, deep down, no matter how much she wished, it could not last forever. That this happiness was only fleeting. She also knew she would never trade it for anything in the world.


	10. Chapter 10

Everything italicised have translations under the notes section 

* * *

 

Elithien did not have many friends, but those she considered as such she cared deeply for. Growing up in a small village, Halloth and her brother were her closest and longest companions. She had known them since their childhood. But with the situation she had gotten herself in, she could not deny her feelings towards Halloth have been tainted. The quendë struggled every moment with the Princess, battling between her fondness for Halloth, and the dishonesty in her secret relationship with Thranduil. Such an affair would scandalise Elithien for eternity.

These were the thoughts swimming in Elithien’s mind while she and Halloth walked together for the last half of an hour, their hands occupied with baskets filled with fruits and vegetables. They were heading towards a settlement of men, located by the border of Greenwood. Though the Silvan elves paid little mind to their proximity, they were not keen on having them as guests nor to have them in their borders. As it so happened, men celebrated a custom during this season. Gift exchanges were common practice amongst their kind. Though the elves did not recognise this human tradition, the consistent practice of gift giving had spread to the citizens of Greenwood, with more partaking in this exchange with each passing year. It was an influence from men that Oropher did not particularly oppose.

Halloth had volunteered to lead the visit, and nominated Elithien to join her, much to the silver maiden’s surprise. Her relationship with humans was strained, especially since her dispute in the woods with two hunters. But Halloth, being the ever-forgiving and compassionate elleth that she was, wanted to resolve this conflict.

“Have you been listening to a word I have been saying?” Halloth bemoaned. Elithien tuned out her thoughts and turned to see a grimace on the Princess’ face. Elithien gave her an apologetic look.

 

“You should not frown like that, mellon. You are too lovely to have such an expression.”

Halloth’s grip on the basket tightened, the sound of the wooden weave creaking from the stress. “If I had known you were not paying attention, I would have stopped as to not waste my breath.”

Elithien shifted her own basket to rest on one arm and hip before placing a hand on her shoulder. “I am sorry. I did not mean to ignore you. I had something in my mind that distracted me. Please, tell me what you wish to say to me.”

Halloth looked at her friend hesitantly, but eventually conceded. “I suppose it is not worth starting from the beginning, but I was just telling you I may have fallen for the Prince.”

Elithien stopped dead on her tracks, her posture stiffening. She dare not look at Halloth as she tried to swallow whatever guilt remained lodged in her throat. She recalled why she had zoned out from Halloth in the first place, and it was because she had been talking nonstop about her time together with Thranduil. There was only so much Elithien could withstand listening to Halloth share her rather romantic encounters with the Prince.

Halloth paused and turned to the silver maiden with a confused look. “Is something wrong?”

Elithien knew she had to force herself to feign normalcy, else it would draw suspicion. She hastily shook her head and carried on walking towards the village coming into view.

“No,” Elithien lied, offering Halloth a weak smile. “None at all.”

 

**☽**

 

Standing before the chief of the village, Elithien and Halloth laid down their baskets on the long dining table, then gestured for Halloth’s handmaidens to follow suit. There were stares from all corners of the room, from merchants to servants of the house. The men looked at the small party of elves like they were divine beings. Compared to the glowing aura of the quendi, the humans looked bleak in contrast.

“We thank you for these gifts,” the Chieftain spoke, gesturing at the food. He then nodded at his guards to step forth. “We too would like to offer the Elvenking a boon.” The two armoured men approached Halloth, and handed her a longsword wrapped in leather. They unfolded the cover for her perusal.

“It is nothing compared to the smiths of your kind, nor is it an attempt to insult you with our inferior craftsmanship, but let this sword symbolise our alliance with your King.”

Halloth traced her finger over the crest of a crow swallowing a dagger engraved on the hilt of the sword, before handing the weapon to her handmaidens to carry. The Princess bowed.

“We thank you for this noble act. Our King will surely appreciate this token.”

Elithien remained silent, uncomfortable by the presence of non-elves. The not-so-subtle, lecherous stares the Chieftain kept shooting at her left her body stiffening. She resisted digging her fingernails into her palms.

“Let us leave,” Elithien spoke in Sindarin, so the men could not understand. “We have fulfilled our duty here.”

The Princess exhaled sharply and nodded. “We hope you may enjoy our harvests and other gifts. It is time for us to depart.”

The elves prepared to take their leave, however the Chieftain raised a hand to command them to halt.

“I could also think of another way to further bond our people,” he said while staring dead at Elithien, his eyes shamelessly scanning her form. The elleth merely glared at him. He leaned over to his captain, whispering something while they both glanced at her. The captain snickered and though she could not hear his response, she could make out the words and deciphered it was something very inappropriate directed towards her.

Elithien muttered a string of unpleasant profanities in Quenya under her breath before switching to Sindarin. “I refuse to be subjected to such disgusting comments from men who belong in a pigsty than a roof over their head. Animals are of better use than these vile creatures.”

The quendë caught Halloth’s face reddening from the corner of her eye when she finished speaking. Halloth cleared her throat and muttered angrily. “Now is not the time.”

When the Chieftain winked at Elithien, the quendë concluded the meeting with a polite but forced farewell. She strode out the hall before she decided to take the sword he gave them and jab it between his legs.

 

**☽**

 

Nearing the gates of Amon Lanc, thankful to return at the stroke of sunset, Elithien did not go without being reprimanded. Halloth, who had been eerily silent, finally spoke up and confronted the silver maiden. “I did not like the way you handled the situation at the village.”

Elithien remained unfazed, “I refuse to be viewed as a mere token. Are you telling me I should have not defended my honour? The honour that I only expressed in my language?”

Halloth shook her head. “What he said was inappropriate, but your reaction was equally so. You embarrassed me in front of people I will have to form friendships within the far future. I would not accept that as Queen.”

Halloth’s words shot through Elithien like lightning, anger quickly rising with every word. Had the Chieftain said the same thing to Halloth, Elithien would have jumped in and interfered in her friend’s honour. To see how she prioritised her reputation, more than protecting her own people--her friend, left a bitterness in her mouth.

Elithien glared. “You are hardly Queen yet.”

The Princess’ eyes widened from her bold statement before her face turned into an angry scowl. “How typically childish of you,” Halloth chastised. “When things do not go your way, you resort to accusations and hotheadedness without considering _why._ I am here to represent the Kingdom of Lindon, for the future of our people, and you think I can always watch over your feelings? Do not be so selfish, Elithien.”

“Typically childish?” Elithien said incredulously. She laughed. “Oh, my sweet Halloth. Your naivety will be the death of you. Do you think the world is so simple and full of flowers and happiness? A word of advice: no matter how much you try to desperately get everyone to like you, there will always be someone who will not. I genuinely hope defending these foreigners over your own kind is worth it.”

“I am done with you,” Halloth declared. She snapped at her handmaidens to follow her once she stormed past the quendë, leaving Elithien to stand bitterly by herself.

 

**☽**

 

Elithien paced around the balcony, her grip on her teacup squeezing harder the longer she waited. The elleth turned towards the sky and noticed the faintest green stretching across the horizon. Too much of the light in Amon Lanc polluted the atmosphere to see anything beyond that. She peered over her shoulder to check the door for the ninth time--and still, it remained undisturbed. Elithien clicked her tongue as slammed the teacup on the balcony rail.

When the quendë finally heard a knock on the door, she crossed the space of the room with lightning speed and wrenched the door open. Thranduil stood there with a bulky, long object in his arms. Before the Prince could speak, Elithien hastily took the wrapped item and set it aside. When he was free of holding anything, she grabbed him by his tunic and yanked him into her room, kicking the door behind her closed with her heel.

“Síloril--?”

“--Not a word.” Elithien set a finger to his lips to hush him.

Her eyes were fixated on Thranduil, piercing him with a deathly gaze. She stalked up to the Prince and then pushed him until his back hit the wall. He landed with a low grunt, startled by her bold move, but made no sign of retaliation. Without hesitation Elithien grabbed him by the collar of his tunic and pulled him down to level with her face, crushing his lips with a hard kiss. She parted her lips and slipped her tongue between the crevice of his mouth.

The quendë was seething with anger. All she knew was she that she needed to release her pent up emotions on the one person Halloth desired but did not have. Elithien knew in her heart it was wrong to use Thranduil for her own spiteful gain, but at this moment she was too caught up in her frustrations. Elithien was tired of the neverending battle between what was the right thing to do versus what she truly wanted. For once in her life, she wanted to be selfish, she wanted to be unreasonable, and for the love of all things, she wanted Thranduil.

The vexation she had for Halloth manifested in an unforgiving kiss. She pressed Thranduil harder against the wall, teeth grazing over his lower lip. She nipped and tugged until his skin trickled with blood. When she was done ravishing his lips, she moved to his neck, finding a particular crevice she knew he especially enjoyed, fingers digging into shoulders hard enough it would surely leave marks. She thought by then he would have pushed her away but he showed not a single sign of retaliation. Contrary, he seemed absolutely delighted by her amorous affections. The noises he made were all of deep pleasure, and spurred Elithien on further.  

In the midst of their heated kissing, marking all exposed skin they could find, the Prince had snaked his fingers around her locks and tugged her head back, their lips tearing apart. She gasped, a rush of blood rippling through her body like a shockwave. His teeth found her neck and kissed the contour of her clavicle, then lingering down to the dip of her decolletage. The quendë felt her heart stammer. It left her hungry and wild, her reservations fading in replacement for sheer want.

Her grip grew weaker as Thranduil continued to explore untouched areas of her body, his fingers trailing to rest of her small waist while he teased her by tugging of the neckline of her dress. His eyes darted up at her in the middle of his ministrations and all she could do was quiver from his animalistic stare.

To her surprise, the hands that rested on her waist effortlessly hoisted her up until he was able to cradle her thighs. Elithien wrapped her arms around his neck for support and gave him a questioning look with her hazy eyes.

“Something is obviously troubling you,” Thranduil murmured. “You have never been so… frantic.”

Elithien sighed. She knew he wasn’t going to be distracted anymore should she attempt to stray him from the subject. He deserved to know.

“Halloth and I had an argument,” she began. “We said hurtful things to each other and it escalated. I was angry that she was perfect in every little way. A delicate flower made of glass that sparkled beautifully. I love her and I have tried in every way to be the friend she deserved, but I feel taken for granted. I would do anything to protect her, so much as take an arrow for her. It was today however, that she made me realise that I do not put myself in front of others enough. The only love I should truly be giving to someone first, is myself. Currently, my happiness is you, and while is Halloth gifted with beauty, destined for sovereignty and even your hand in marriage, I at least have your heart.” Elithien dropped her head. “I needed so desperately to feel like you are mine.”  


“ _Miluis_ ,” Thranduil murmured while cupping her cheek. The ellon gave her a chaste kiss on her forehead before bringing her gaze close to him. “I am yours, and this pain is not alone for you to burden. It is true that I may not give you everything I wish I could, but know that you are right when you say you have my heart.”

The quendë searched his eyes, drawing her breath to reply. The Prince interrupted her and set her onto the sofa, and then fetched the package that laid on the floor by the main door. Thranduil joined beside her and handed her the clothed object. On her lap, it was twice the size of the furniture she was seated on, the two ends of the mystery item jutting out. Elithien raised a curious look at Thranduil. “What is it?”

“A gift,” Thranduil said. “Open it.”

The maiden inspected the carefully packaged object before deciding she would get nowhere until it was unwrapped. She untied the strings binding it together, the linen sliding off to rest on her dress. Her mouth parted as she was greeted with a beautifully crafted longbow.

“Thranduil,” the elleth whispered, almost afraid to pick up a masterpiece. She did not feel worthy of such a fine weapon. Her head shot up to him, eyes filled with awe. “You have absolutely spoiled me.”

“Of course I would, Síloril.” The Prince moved forward and gestured at the bow, “try it.”

She carefully placed her hands under the bow and lifted it. It was incredibly light, her eyes tracing every little intricate detail carved in the wood. Elithien was used to Noldorin craft having iron or silver lined along the curves, but this bow was made of the finest quality of wood. It would have cost a fortune to make. She stood up and shifted into a basic archery stance, drawing the bow and pulling the string back. It was then she noticed a soft glow just by the side of the grip, like a tiny crystal embedded in the wood. The elleth realised it was imbued with magic. “I can feel it. Like it is forming a link.”

“The Noldor were known to be great craftsmen, no doubt living up to Feanör’s reputation. However, it does not mean we have forgotten our roots either. The Silvan have come a long way with woodwork. We know every tree that would create the hardiest spears and sharpest arrow. This bow will not let you down.”

Still completely entranced by the beauty of this weapon, she absentmindedly responded. “I will live up to its honour. I will name it _Calen_ , in honour of the Wood.”

She finally tore her sight from Calen and set it down on the table in front of them.

“Thranduil,” she said as she took his hands and beckoned him to stand up with her. Elithien pulled him closer to her until their bodies met. “I think…” she struggled to finish her sentence, her thoughts drifting when his hands circled over her spine and their lips drew closer to one another. “I think I--”

A sharp _shattering_ sound resounded throughout the room. Elithien tore herself away from the Prince, her head whipping in the direction of the source. Blood immediately drained from her face when she saw the main door ajar, a stream of light crossing the room from between the crack. She could still hear the faint footsteps of someone running away.

The elleth shoved herself off from Thranduil and immediately sprinted towards the entrance, yanking open the wooden door and emerging from it. Whoever their visitor was, they were too far for her to chase, but she noticed a trail of glass pieces splayed across the ground. Elithien followed the trail until she found the source of the broken item. She knelt down and carefully picked away the shards until she found what laid underneath it. It was then she realised the glass had been a box case, and in it, the same circlet she wore on the night Halloth dressed her. Along it came with a small note that read in Sindarin ‘ _I am sorry for earlier. Please forgive me, gwathel'_.

Her fingers felt numb, her eyes watering as she fought back the urge to burst into tears. She felt like she couldn’t breathe, her body quivering as she pieced together the familiar handwriting and knew the secret was finally out. Her hands clenched on the shard still on her hand, the edge piercing her skin until she bled. Elithien watched as the red pooled on her palm before it trailed off and dripped onto her dress.

She could never forget the sound of the glass shattering ever again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> miluis-[Sindarin] lovely one  
> calen-[Sindarin] green  
> gwathel-[Sindarin] sister (not of blood)


	11. Chapter 11

What transpired next was a blur to Elithien. After kneeling in a daze with her teary vision fixed on the circlet, she was only able to pull away from the distraction after she felt her dress dampening against her thighs. She’d cut herself far more deeply than she thought, and the blood splotch grew twice in size, staining nearly the entire front of her skirt. She finally rose, dropping the shard, and returned to her quarters.

Thranduil was standing in the centre of the room, clearly impatient. Upon seeing the blood all over her dress, his eyes widened. The Prince immediately began inspecting her wounds.

When Thranduil frantically inspected her hands, she could feel her head dulling the noise into monotonic ringing. The elleth did not even realise several minutes had passed until Thranduil had her hands--now bandaged in what she believed was from a part of his sleeves--clasped in his.

She watched his mouth move at a rapid pace, but she could make no sense of what he said, nor could she hear whatever he was shouting.

It was when Thranduil mentioned Halloth, she was able to snap out of her trance, finally pulling her gaze away. The noise was coming back, gradually increasing until she heard Thranduil beg her to speak to him.

“Leave,” she whispered.

Thranduil paused. He silenced himself and leaned forward. “I beg your pardon?”

“Leave!” Elithien yelled. When the ellon remained where he was, she shoved Thranduil towards the door. She needed to think, and she couldn’t have the Prince near her while she did.

Before Thranduil could retaliate she managed to evict him from her room, slamming the door shut and locking it. Elithien turned around and let her body hit the wood, gradually sliding down to the floor.

The Prince was a stubborn one and refused to leave, fist constantly banging against the door. Elithien squeezed her eyes shut and groaned.

_Ilúvatar, what have I done?_

 

**☽**

 

As dawn arrived and the first streak of light streamed through the window, Elithien sprang from the sofa, changed her bloodied dress and went straight towards the courtyard.

After Thranduil finally gave up on persuading her to talk it out, the elleth restlessly paced from one part of the room to the other. When she still had yet to figure out how to deal with the damage, she decided seeking fresh air and sunlight would give her clarity.

Her plan to head to the courtyard was hindered when she arrived at the bottom of the stairs and saw Ruieth. Though the hall was wide enough to walk past the Silvan, Elithien had a sense that Ruieth had been waiting for her. The captain did not look pleased at all.

“R-Ruieth,” Elithien greeted her cautiously. “A good morning to you—“

The quendë’s words were cut off mid-sentence when a sharp slap burned her cheek.

Elithien brought a hand to her swelling skin. She turned to look at Ruieth, her eyes welling with tears. The Silvan’s expression was sheer disgust.

“I cannot believe I ever called you _gwathel_. I am ashamed to even think of it. How could you ever do such a thing to Halloth? Your very own friend!” Ruieth seethed.

“Have you come to humiliate me further?” Elithien asked, her words dripping with hurt.

“No,” Ruieth replied. “My main purpose was to bring you to the King in his throne room. Whatever reservations I have for you, I will hope the King will serve you the justice you deserve.” She grimaced.

Elithien knew it was futile to explain, and even if she did, there was nothing she could say that would save her from the scandal. All the quendë could do was nod and follow Ruieth.

Once they arrived, the doors to the throne room opened. Ruieth jerked her head towards them as an order before the doors were closed once more. King Oropher sat alone on a throne made of twisting wood that appeared to be the roots of a tree, its trunk stretching to the ceiling where the branches spread and dangled with long vines of beautiful leaves that glistened like gold. The faintest breeze made the room shimmer with splendour. No guards or council stood beside the King. It was only the two of them within these great walls.

Elithien approached the King, bowed low, then straightened. Oropher merely studied her while rubbing his chin. He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward.

“Elithien Aurëyeldë. I have been informed of ill deed you have committed towards the daughter of Maeldir. The Lady had confronted her father in tears, in which Maeldir has notified me that the alliance between our clans may no longer be in question.” Elithien swallowed when she could tell Oropher was withholding his anger. “He claims his daughter holds _you_ accountable for this decision.”

The King rose from his seat and took a step down from his throne. With his intimidating demeanour, Elithien had never felt so small in her life. “Child of the Noldor,” Oropher continued. “I demand your confession in order to seek the truth behind these accusations that you are seducing my son.”

The quendë knew it was the end of her imaginary world with Thranduil. There was no excuse to make and no lies could ever reduce the damage caused.

“Answer me!” The King ordered.

She flinched and hastily responded the impatient Elvenking. “It is true, my lord. The Prince and I have been sharing intimacies with one another. We... have been doing so since our journey from Lindon.”

Oropher was not at all pleased. The King took another step down. He was studying her, and the elleth couldn’t bear it. Even cursing at her would be far less of a torment than the pending answer.

Unexpectedly, he asked. “Do you love my son?”

It was a startling question, one she had yet to even ask herself, yet in the deepest recesses of her mind, she knew she had the answer long ago. Like the gates opening with the will of _Ulmo_ , Elithien felt her tears give way. She could not deny the obvious truth to herself and confessed to her crimes.

“Yes, my lord,” Elithien said. “With all my heart, I have fallen in love with your son. I yearn for him no matter how much I wish I could deny it. This I swear on Ilúvatar and Elbereth. May they hear my voice as a sacred oath to my undying love.”

She fell to the ground in defeat. The tears would no longer stop. Oropher merely contemplated Elithien’s confession.

“Is he aware of your love for him?”

Elithien shook her head. “No my lord. I have yet to tell him.”

Oropher paused for a moment.

“Rise, Elithien,” The King commanded, clasping his hands behind his back. “I shall pass judgment on your actions.”

 

 

 

The quendë hastily wiped her tears away with her sleeves and stood. She gave her dress a quick brush and straightened. Even if she were an utter embarrassment in front of the King, she would try to salvage any form of dignity left in her.

The King raised a hand.

“My heart is warm today. Not for your speech of love but for you are the daughter of Aurë, my dear friend. Henceforth, I reduce your sentence to exile from Greenwood. I hereby banish you from the Woodland Realm for long as I reign and return you to your mother. You shall never speak to my son again and you shall leave this very instance. I will have my servants personally aid you in your departure and assign you a small escort party for protection. Be thankful I pity your mother.”

Elithien gaped at his words. “Please, my lord! This was to be my life. I love my duty serving here! How is this mercy for me?”

“Silence!” He ordered, his gaze turning into a glare. “Consider this mercy else I would have sentenced you to imprisonment for years, rotting in the deepest cellar until you do not know what light looks like anymore.”

The elleth knew there was little she could do. She conceded and bowed. “As you command, my lord,” she mumbled between her sobs.

The King returned to his throne, sighing as he waved her off in dismissal. She began walking towards the main door, the sounds of her steps echoing throughout the grand room.

With little time to gather herself, nor time to bid farewell to the Wood, she made for her departure. She could only glance at Amon Lanc slowly disappearing into the mist until there was nothing left behind her.

Elithien turned her gaze forward and carried on.

# End of Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gwathel- [Sindarian] Sister (not by blood)  
> Ulmo - King of the Seas


	12. Chapter 12

 

#  Part II

_130 Years Later_

 

In the peak of spring’s blossom, the town of Harlindon was often littered with a greater presence of quendi. Spring was the season when the people of Lindon enjoyed the outdoors most. Gardens were sowed, hair braided into intricate styles and the town centre prepared for the upcoming _Mettare_ and _Yestare festival_ in celebration of the new year. Amidst all this excitement, Elithien found herself standing on a hill that overlooked her hometown, wishing she were simply at home rather than up here with her body keeled over. She regained her breath from an intense run.

For the last several decades since her banishment from Greenwood, the elleth had fallen into an ill habit of isolating herself, with no motivation to perform anything apart from small, mundane tasks and intensive reading. Aurë had attempted tirelessly to persuade her daughter away from her negligence but all was for nought. The elleth refused to emerge from her hermit state.

It was when Halloth’s brother, Míldir, came to Aurë that she was able to finally make a change. Míldir had a particularly strong resemblance to his sister. Much like her, he too had wavy brown locks, amber eyes and soft facial features. But what they shared in looks was certainly not the same in attitude.

After having resided in Mithlond for the last decades, Míldir had finally returned home for what he ostensibly said was “finding out that my dearest friend had been stricken with depression.” When he discovered that she had been cooped up since coming back, he decided to be rather aggressive in his approach to getting Elithien up and moving.

Word in Lindon spread fast. Everyone in the village knew of Elithien’s scandal with the Prince of the Woodland Realm, and Míldir told her that he could understand why she chose to stay indoors. Halloth was his sister, after all, and the gossip was not too kind. But as the years went by, many had moved on from it. The elves of Harlindon were known to be forgiving with their own kind. It had helped to bring Elithien out of her shell.

The elleth had been reading a book one afternoon, resting comfortably on her bed, when Míldir appeared without warning, grabbed the elleth and slung her over his shoulder. She was forcefully carried out of her room. Elithien protested, attempting to violently wriggle out of his grasp but it was pointless. After he had carried her for an hour up the foothills, Elithien accepted it was futile to retaliate and finally remained silent in his grasp. When they were lengths away from town, he finally dropped her on the ground and rolled his shoulders free. It was here he revealed that he would not take no for an answer and proposed a deal in exchange for him to leave her alone for as long as she pleased.

The request was to have her as his training partner. A companion to spar, run, practise archery and other sorts of vigorous routine. It was an odd bargain but Elithien complied and thus, she now found herself, several months later, regaining herself as she prepared for another several miles of running.

“Hurry up!” Míldir called from the distance.

Elithien glanced towards the footpath leading into more uneven rows of hills, catching sight of her partner already way ahead. The quendë adjusted her hair away from her face and then continued off.

 

**☽**

 

It took a few weeks for Elithien to realise how much she owed her life to Míldir. The pact they made seemed peculiar at first, but in hindsight, she came to understand. Physical training had been the best form of distraction that no book or study could compare. Because Míldir was so rigorous with his routines and schedule, and most definitely, highly competitive, she hardly had any time to think about herself when she was constantly trying not to wretch from over-exertion.

The daily workout formed a habit. What started with Míldir yanking the sheets from her bed and forcing Elithien out of her home before the stroke of dawn, improved to the elleth waiting impatiently for Míldir by her front door. They would start jogging through the foothills in the direction of Erid Luin. Arriving at the mountains, they continued to scale the walls until they reached a flat platform and then took a momentary break to enjoy the sunrise. From there, they climbed back down and jogged to the forest where they would spend the next several hours sparring.

Standing in the middle of the forest, Elithien shoved her sword onto the makeshift weapons rack. The elleth wiped the trickles of sweat from her forehead and turned to Míldir. He was playfully swinging his sword around. Míldir smirked.

“Tired?” he asked.

 

 

 

Elithien scoffed after selecting a wooden staff. She tested its weight and balance on her hands while responding, “hardly. I simply want to try something different.”

She moved towards Míldir and readied her stance.

“An interesting choice,” he answered. “You risk bludgeoning me while I wield a sword that could simply slice it in half?”

“Now where is the fun in boring sword fight scenarios?” she countered. “I want a challenge.”

Míldir shrugged and grinned eagerly. “Very well, mellon. Prepare yourself.”

They cautiously circled one another. Míldir lunged first, aiming for her thigh. She deflected his attack and shoved him away. He smirked, waiting until Elithien crossed onto an uneven surface and went to strike again. The ellon managed to graze her sleeve but she was able to duck quicker and swing her staff at his ankles, sweeping him off the ground. Without a second, she aimed to detain him, her footwork agile. Míldir was able to block her and kicked her down. With both of them on the ground, they scrambled to stand up and gain the advantage. What transpired next was a flurry of strikes back and forth until Elithien found herself on the defensive. Míldir continued to press forward and when he saw an opening, he slashed at Elithien for the final blow, causing her staff to snap in half.

The elleth predicted this to happen, however. When he allowed his guard down for that vital second, she swiftly darted towards him and landed a heavy punch to his stomach. He heaved and staggered back, surprise evident in his expression. Before he could draw another breath, she was able to disarm the ellon, snatching his sword and pointing the tip at his throat right after.

They stood frozen in their spots, both panting heavily. Míldir stared at the tip of the blade before chuckling at Elithien in defeat.

“Well played,” he commended, raising his arms in surrender.

Elithien retracted the sword and jabbed it into the soil. She rolled her shoulders and dropped onto the ground to rest. Míldir went to his satchel by the weapons rack and fetched his flask. He joined Elithien as he took a long swig of water before passing it to the elleth.

“You have significantly improved,” he said, bringing his knees up to rest his arms over them. “The first time we sparred you could hardly touch me.”

Elithien huffed a grin. She took a long gulp and then passed the flask back to Míldir. “I feel different. I feel stronger, quicker. My archery has never been more accurate.”

He nodded in agreement. “Indeed you are. You have truly become the finest Bowman in all of Arda. I believe that.”

She glanced at him and offered him a genuine smile. “Thank you.”

Míldir’s grin stretched before giving her a playful nudge. “Do not discredit yourself. The one who you should truly be thanking is yourself. Be proud.”

Elithien raised her gaze to the sky above. The waning moon shone alongside the sun in peaceful harmony. She smiled again, wondering for the first time in years if Thranduil would have been proud of her too.

 

**☽**

 

There was peace throughout the Second Age but it was inevitable that their quiet lives would once again be disturbed. Close to the end of Spring, news travelled throughout Middle Earth of Sauron’s return, wreaking havoc in ways that threatened all of Middle Earth. Such terror led to the Alliance between elves and men in order to end his reign once and for all. It was nothing like the battle north of Erid Luin that now seemed minuscule. No, this was war.

King Gil-Galad rallied the elves of Lindon to arms, and the army marched off to gather the rest of the Alliance. Elithien felt like she had only taken a breath before she was on her way to Mordor. She had at least Míldir by her side to brace for the long journey.

They crossed the Misty Mountains, marching south through the vale of Anduin where they rendezvoused with the Silvan elves led by Amdír and Oropher. They continued towards the Black Gate and with their final allies, the Anárion’s forces from the south, their entire army multiplied thrice in size.

After weeks of travelling with the masses, the elleth knew they drew near Cirith Gorgor. Entering Mordor, the skies became bleak, the roads were muddied and its haunting ambience left an unsettling chill amongst their legion. At the furthest point in the distance, plumes of smoke rose into the air. The army settled several miles away from the Black Gate and began making preparations.

As they began to unpack, Elithien turned towards the crowds already gathered there. Then a thought occurred to her. She drew in a sharp breath. In front of the sea of elves, dwarves and men, somewhere in this vast encampment, the quendë forced herself to not think of the one elf she may inevitably come to face. Were they to meet, it was not the reunion she had hoped for with the Prince of the Woodland Realm.

  
  



	13. Chapter 13

Everything italicised has translations under the notes section 

* * *

 

Joining the forces serving High King Gil-Galad was an honour Elithien would gladly take as a proud Noldorin elf. She had never been more fit for battle, owing her entire training regime to Míldir. The elleth was ready to prove to the Valar of her worth, but no amount of training would prepare Elithien to face Thranduil after a century later. 

Elithien went the blacksmiths not long after their arrival, inspecting the few weapons resting against crates and tables. She waited patiently for the working dwarf to finish attending to a Númenor. 

“Here,” the smithy laughed as he returned his helm. “This should keep yer head from being bludgeoned by an orc’s pike. If it’s a troll, however, best you run. Yer head would be smashed to tiny lil’ pieces with a brute that size.” The man did not look all too pleased by that comment, giving Elithien a curt nod as he briskly walked by. 

She moved forward and laid her Silvan longbow, Calen, on the dwarf’s worktable. 

“Greetings. I would request for arrows suited best for this bow.” She spoke politely.

The blacksmith inspected the weapon laid in front of him, picking up the woodwork and examining every detail of its craft. “Astoundin’…” he muttered. He looked at her. “If I had my workshop here, I would’ve insisted on our finest dwarven craft but for what I can offer now is only limited. It will still do the job, but nothing against finer materials it would compare to.” 

Elithien hummed in contemplation, scanning the area to see what other options she may have. She recalled an idea and reached into her belt pouch, pulling out a vial filled with an eerie black liquid. The elleth presented the item to the smithy. 

“Could you design something suited for poison?”

There was a hint of curiosity in his eyes, but he was smart enough not to question further. When he accepted her requisition and notified her to come back later to pick it up, a messenger approached the elleth and greeted her. 

“My Lady, King Gil-Galad has requested you to give this letter to the Lord of the Woodland Realm. It is of utmost importance,” he announced. 

Elithien felt a nervous chill run through her spine. She would not think she would have to see the Oropher family so soon. What would they say if they saw her? Would they send her straight off? The elleth forced to keep her rising emotions hidden behind a nonchalant expression and simply raised a sceptical brow as she took the carefully sealed envelope. “Why did the King specifically request me to be the bearer? Surely there are plenty of others better suited for this task.

At her comment, the messenger looked uncomfortable and struggled to respond. Elithien caught a flicker of a condescending expression in his face and recognised the familiar look. She had been receiving such stares since she had returned to Lindon. It was the look of disgust towards a harlot scandalising the crown and their people.

The ellon made to speak, but Elithien interrupted him. “Never mind. Just point which way King Oropher’s tent is.”

 

**☽**

 

Elithien swallowed nervously as she neared the Silvan encampment, noticing the obvious stares of those who were once her friends. If this was King Gil-Galad’s way of punishing her through humiliation, it was certainly working. The quendë quickened her pace and darted towards the largest and only tent surrounded by guards.

To her relief, she had not spotted any familiar faces in the crowd, most especially Halloth. While Elithien was still too ashamed to confront the Princess, she felt relief that her former friend was not involved in bloodshed. Nothing about war was pleasant. 

As she approached the tent, her heart began to race at the thought she may have to face the more frightening reality. If King Oropher was beyond these curtains, then it was highly likely Thranduil was too. 

Elithien presented the seal on the letter to the guards to let them identify the royal crest. Upon inspecting it, they moved aside and drew the curtains for the elleth. She thanked them briefly and stepped in. 

She thought she would be able to exhale, but the moment her eyes caught the Prince leaning over the war table beside Oropher, her breathing hitched. The father and son were deep in an argument with Elendil the Númenorean. She had only heard stories of Elendil but judging from the colours of his ensemble, the crest of Gil-Galad, and his distinctly tall figure, she recognised it was most certainly him. It was known Elendil and Gil-Galad were close confidants. They were so focused that they hadn’t even noticed her arrival.

Elithien had half the mind to simply slip the envelope on the table beside her, and be on her way but knew King Gil-Galad would want her to specifically hand this letter to Oropher. The elleth drew a shaky breath and cleared her throat to gain their attention.

When the discussion seized, she bowed low before standing upright and announcing her presence. “Pardon me,” she addressed courteously. “King Gil-Galad has sent me to hand you this.” She gave the letter to Oropher. “He requests that you read it as soon as it reaches you.” 

While the King of Greenwood took a dagger from the table and sliced through the envelope, her eyes discreetly shifted to Thranduil. She felt her palms become clammy, fearing that her heartbeats were loud enough for the room to hear. The quendë’s stomach fluttered when the Prince caught her glancing, their eyes locking into a brief stare. Before she could even study his expression, he nonchalantly turned his gaze back to his father and ignored her, as if she were a complete stranger in the room. 

“What utter nonsense,” the King muttered in Silvan, moving to the brazier and tossing the letter into the fire. Elithien turned her attention to the Elvenking and waited for her dismissal. She wondered what the message was that merited Oropher to give such a response. 

“Tell the High King that I have read his ridiculous letter,” Oropher said before waving her off. “You may leave.”

Elithien courteously bowed with her hands clasped together. She snuck one last look towards Thranduil and saw his focus was completely elsewhere. Not a single drop of care in the world that the one he had professed to love was standing before him. 

She turned her heel and bitterly left the camp.

 

**☽**

 

The vast enemy before them was their moment of reckoning. Elithien studied the plains of Dagorlad, the horizon swarming with fell. Their army was so dense that the land looked almost as if it was plagued with black ants. She leaned forward and whispered words of comfort to her horse. Not long after, someone behind her called for her attention and nodded in the direction of the King. Gil-Galad ordered for her audience so she nudged her horse towards him.

“My lord,” she greeted, halting beside him. 

“Are you absolutely positive Oropher read my letter?” He asked.

Elithien nodded. “I am sure. I have seen him burn the letter soon after reading it.” Though she had not mentioned the part that Oropher had called his message ‘ridiculous’. She wondered if mentioning it would matter either way.

The King looked unconvinced. “Then why is his army inching past the front lines when I specifically ordered him to wait on my command?” he muttered.

The elleth glanced at the Silvan army that was marching forward. At the front was Oropher alongside Thranduil and Amdír, a Sindarin elf who was also a close ally to the Silvan King. She turned to her left and saw the army of the Númenóreans positioned beside the Sindar and Noldor. 

“Are we to advance?” Elendil called towards King Gil-Galad.

“No!” The Noldo snapped. He looked back and forth between the Wood elves and the enemy line, cursing with every breath.

Something was not right. 

Just as Elithien began to hear whispers of confusion, a loud horn blared throughout the landscape. The Silvan elves broke into a battle cry and they charged towards the orc army. 

“Fool!” Gil-Galad yelled. “I specifically ordered the damned elf to wait for my signal! They know nothing of these lands and its marshes.”

The sound of metal clashing resonated in the air. Elithien felt her ears pulse loudly, watching as the fell began to surround the Silvan. Her heart raced furiously as she wondered if Gil-Galad was simply going to let the Wood elves become overwhelmed. Without the rest of the alliance, they would never survive. 

_ What is he waiting for?  _  Her grip on the reigns tightened. 

When the bulk of the fell streamed from the hills towards the flatlands, ready to consume the rest, it was then Gil-Galad sounded them to charge. Elendil ordered his men to follow suit. Elithien kicked hard to charge, reaching for her bow and pulling a few arrows to hold between her fingers. She nocked an arrow and braced herself for the oncoming slaughter. 

The sea of black soon formed into orcs, trolls, goblins, and balrogs. On the ground, many Silvan already laid dead. The world around her slowed into a standstill, and Elithien channelled all her concentration into her aim at a goblin that was about to behead an ally. Centring her shot right at their temple, she continued to hold her breath and just as the goblin was raising their blade, she released.

The arrow flew and pierced the enemy soldier right in their neck, the creature flinging to the ground. Elithien felt the world return to normal speed with the haunting cries and the smell of death. Another few hundred feet and they would reach the middle of the battlefield. 

The elleth repeatedly drew her bow and continued to shoot her enemies that were honing in. She took out as many of Sauron’s creatures as she could until her quiver supply depleted. By the time she was down to her last few, a hurdle of orcs were within melee range. She took them out one by one, quickly eliminating anyone that was too close for comfort. 

“Elithien!” A voice called. She whipped her head and saw Míldir about to throw a full quiver towards her. She caught it and continued shooting any monster in sight. They were absolutely swarmed with orcs and with their armies pushing further in, she struggled to manoeuvre her mount between the figures.

“Watch out!”

Without knowing where the danger came from, she could only quickly scan her peripheral and just a second too late, noticed the flaming boulder coming towards her direction. The crashed impacted, and Elithien flew off her horse. She tumbled onto the ground, body grazing through the rocky dirt. Her vision went hazy for a moment. She shook her head and forced herself to focus but struggled to get back up. 

A pair of hands quickly dragged her to cover, and she gradually came to. Míldir had pulled her away. 

“Are you alright?” He shouted through the clashing metal. 

Elithien staggered up and ignored the burning pain radiating on her hip. She nodded briefly and searched for her horse. A few feet away, she discovered her fallen and bloodied steed. It was dead. 

“Forgive me, Silif,” she whispered. She had no time for grieving however, and hurried towards it to retrieve her gear. Elithien swiped a club from the ground and swung at those who blocked her path. The elleth tossed aside the weapon when she reached the carcass and quickly looted it. She managed to retrieve her bow and her quiver, deciding to abandon her sword when it was wedged too deeply under her mount. There was too little time to claim anything else.

Seconds after, giant spiders came speeding towards her. Elithien swiftly shot them and began sprinting across the field to where she saw an opening. Upon sliding into an overhang for cover, she was able to take the time to assess the view around her. Bodies were littered all across the battlefield. Most of them were Sauron’s soldiers, but many of their own people’s lives were taken as well. Oropher’s brash decision to attack had cost him the lives of not only the Silvan but the Noldor, dwarves, and men.

“Elithien, we have a problem!” Míldir called. She turned to find the ellon slicing his way towards her, drenched in mud and blood. He pointed to the hills where the Sauron’s army was first stationed and she saw four towering trebuchets come into view. 

“ _ Á fatanyu _ ,” Elithien cursed. If they did not do something about the siege weapons, then it was likely they would be on the losing side. 

“Send the cavalry! We must destroy their trebuchets!” Gil-Galad commanded. Elithien looked over her shoulder and watched the horsemen charge past Gil-Galad and then her. Several of their units already succumbed to death the closer they reached the machinery. The trebuchet on the furthest right fired a massive, flaming boulder across the sky, landing in a dense crowd of people. Hundreds of individuals were dead from one attack. 

Elithien emerged from hiding and fought her way to the front, firing at those ahead. When the elleth came in the range of the trebuchets, she took out the orcs that were loading the next rock, stalling as much time she could while waiting for more reinforcements to arrive. Although she was able to kill the orcs manning the trebuchets, a balrog swooped in and grabbed the flaming rock from the sling. The horrific creature threw the payload with mighty strength, the rock flying further than the trebuchet was even capable of. The quendë’s eyes followed the burning boulder towards the bulk of the Silvan army. Amdir’s forces managed to split away, shouting warnings, but it was too late for the majority of them to escape. 

In a second before it landed, Elithien’s eyes caught a glimpse of Oropher in the middle of it all. The crash resulted in a massive cloud of dust and smoke rising in the air. She shielded her face with her arm and went towards the site to aid him. The smoke began to choke her. The elleth covered her mouth with the fabric of her sleeve and crouched low. Her eyes watered while she whispered a prayer to the Valar, asking them for her protection. The wind gave way, and the path began to clear. The boulder had crumbled into large debris chunks and one of them had Oropher pinned beneath it. 

“My lord!” She pushed off from the ground and sprinted towards him. Elithien bent down and assessed the situation, searching for a way to pull the delirious Elvenking free. When the King coughed, a gush of blood splattered from his mouth. “Oropher, can you hear me? I am going to get you out of this.” 

“It is futile,” he said. “My legs are crushed.”

Elithien peered around her, searching frantically for Míldir or anyone for assistance but found nothing but bodies splayed across the ground. Her only saving grace was the fight was moving further away from them. 

“If I can find something strong enough to wedge underneath this rock, I may be able to lift it just enough for you to crawl out,” she said as calmly as she could. 

“Enough. I have sent my people to their deaths. Let me die and join them.” The elleth was having none of it. 

“I will return to you as soon as I can,” she replied, rising. The elleth searched around the premises to find something as a lever. With the fires no longer raging, she was able to have a better view of the area while scavenging through the dead. To her luck, she found metal debris from what she believed used to be a cart. She grabbed onto the long shaft that was jutting out and yanked it from the ground. Once freed, she quickly dashed back to Oropher. Elithien went straight to work and began figuring out how she could best do this.

“Forgive me,” the Elvenking said. “It took me a long while to realise how much Thranduil deeply cared for you and exiling you may have been my greatest mistake.”

It wasn’t the conversation she expected to have but keeping him distracted was good, so she allowed him to continue while she worked, even if she had a queasy sense that he was talking like it was truly his final words.

“You had your reasons. Halloth was arranged for the Prince long before I, and I disrespected that.” Elithien replied.

There was silence, and when Oropher had not replied she turned to check on the King. He had a certain look on him. Was that guilt she saw through the pain?

“Aurë never told you, did she?” Oropher said with eyes widening before breaking into a bitter smile and shook his head.

When Elithien fixed her makeshift lever, she stood and positioned herself to push down. “Tell me what?”

“ _ Why _ Halloth specifically.”

The quendë mustered her strength and began pushing as hard as she could. The debris didn’t budge. She cursed.

“She is the child of Maeldir, is she not? The Maeldir family is known to be quite reputable amongst the Sindar. Even the Noldor acknowledged that much.”

“You are aware, that your bloodline contains far more royalty than hers?” he said almost sarcastically.

Elithien halted and stared at Oropher. “What are you implying?” she asked, now suspicious.

“You are the child of the Noldor, one of the few that remain on Middle Earth. Your father may be Sindar but your mother is living proof that you carry the same sovereign power equal to Gil-Galad.” He drew a sharp inhale after delivering his sentence. The King was in a lot more pain than he was letting on.

“I am aware of my heritage, Oropher. Now is not the time for a history lesson.”

“Then have you ever questioned  _ why _ you were not a prospect for Thranduil? Not even considered?”

Elithien paused, allowing his words to sink in. It had never occurred to her.

“Oropher, I do not have time to think about this. I am trying to get you out of here! We can discuss it afterwards.” He wouldn’t listen however.

“Elithien, your father made me swear I never involve his children with I or my family ever again.”

The mention of her father was enough for her to distract her from her task.

“What has my father have to do with this? He died before you came to Lindon.” 

“I knew your mother since Doriath, remember? We have been acquainted with one another long before meeting you in Lindon.”

“Yes, but  _ why _ have you sworn to an oath forbidding me from your family?” 

Oropher sighed. “Because for a fleeting moment, long before Aurë wedded your father, your mother and I—“ He hesitated. “—were lovers.”

She felt like someone had just punched her in the stomach. 

Elithien turned to meet his gaze, her grip on the lever loosening until her hands dropped from it. She could not believe his confession. Refused to.

“My mother said she never loved anyone else other than my father.” The elleth felt anger rising in her voice.

“None of us were to ever speak of this again. Aurë and I went on with our lives. She went to wed your father and, I with my late dear wife. Rest assured your mother loved your father more than anything in the world. What we had was only a moment that soon was buried beneath the earth.” 

“That still makes no sense. Why would that anger my father so much if it ended anyway?!” 

Oropher paused. “He discovered our kinship when he was already engaged to her.” 

Elithien choked, shaking her head like it was a joke. But soon, she could no longer hold it and broke into hysterical laughter, completely in disbelief.

“Oh, this must be some kind of sick joke. You had me  _ exiled _ , Oropher! You banished me for something that left me feeling like I was the most disgraced elf of Arda. Have the Valar been cursing me with your mistakes and forcing me to live through  _ your _ hypocrisy?!”

“I did not expect you would fall in love with my son! I would have expected love was the last thing in your mind when it came to Thranduil.”

“Then you are no more foolish to think life so simple.”

Oropher looked like he was about to argue back, but she interrupted him first.  “Enough, I do not wish to hear any more of this. It is too much.” 

The King’s silence was some form of comfort she finally had. She was suffering enough from an ongoing war, and having Oropher drop this massive secret on her was too much for her to bear all at once.

“Leave me, Elithien. Let me die in glory and ascend to the Hall of Mandos where I may rest,” Oropher insisted.

“Ada!” a familiar voice yelled.

Elithien turned her head and saw Thranduil standing in the distance. Another trebuchet in the background launched a rock into the air.

A hand snapped to her wrist and she was tugged back to Oropher.

“I will not ask for your forgiveness because there is nothing I can do to make amends, but I beg you for one request--not as a King, but as a father.” His grip tightened. “Protect my son. Promise me that you will keep him alive from this war.” 

Thranduil’s repeating shouts grew louder. Elithien glanced behind her and before she could warn Thranduil of an unexpected troll, he was bludgeoned on the head by the monster’s club, falling onto the ground unconscious.

“ _ Suni _ ,” Elithien swore as the blood drained from her face. Things were worsening by every second. “ _ Suni, suni, suni _ !”

Before the troll attempted a second blow, the panicked elleth intervened and fired. She fired again, and again. It took at least her entire quiver to have the troll finally retreating, limping in pain. With no help in sight and Thranduil incapacitated as well, there was no way she would be able to save them both.

“Míldir!” she cried. “Anyone, please!” 

None heard her. Oropher managed to tug on her cloak to steal her attention. 

“Elithien, focus. You cannot allow yourself to panic. Get yourself and my son back to safety.” 

Elithien knew she had no choice, and Oropher had made up his mind. She reached into her boot, retrieved a dagger and passed it to the King. 

“May Manwë grant you honour for your duty, Tulkas to give you the strength to fight valiantly to your death and Mandos to welcome you proudly into his Hall for all that you have done.”

With her parting words, she squeezed the dagger into his hand and tore away from him, running towards Thranduil. She vaulted over the debris and slid to the ground beside the Prince, quickly making sure there were no other vital wounds that needed immediate attention. To her relief, there was no external bleeding but she could not say the same for his head.

“Thranduil,” she coaxed, prompting him to wake with a gentle shake. He did not respond. Elithien reached under the Prince and pulled half of his body over her shoulder and secured her arm around him. She began finding a path as far away from the conflict as possible. The weight of carrying Thranduil became excruciating. Her back burned and her muscles seared from the stress. It would be approximately a mile before someone from the forward camp could spot her. She hoped she would make it by then.

“Elentári, please. Help us,” she cried. Her foot slipped and she crashed forward. She screamed in sheer pain. It took several minutes before she was able to open her eyes and glance down to find the reason for her pain. A broken spear had impaled through her thigh, her breeches forming a red blotch. She sat up with much struggle, then reached for Thranduil’s cape and tore a long strip of fabric. With shaking hands she reached for the spear, hissing when it nudged against her tissues.

Her vision faded to spots of white noise and her head throbbed from shock. With one hand on her leg, she used her free one and carefully wrapped the punctured wound. Elithien tugged it securely into a knot, a yelp escaping her lips from the pressure. It did not take long before the cloth bandage began to dampen. She would need to have it dislodged very soon.

Elithien stumbled back up and with wobbly legs, she hoisted Thranduil over herself again and continued.

Her vision became hazier by the minute and she stumbled every several feet. All she could do was pray. Looking ahead, there was not a living soul in sight. The elleth collapsed to the ground, completely out of strength. She rolled Thranduil over to lie on his back, his head lolling to the side. She knelt in front of him and began sobbing.

“I am sorry,” she whispered, cupping his unconscious face. “I am so sorry.” 

She dropped her head onto his chest and accepted that perhaps she might finally be reunited with her father. The sound of heavy footsteps drew closer and she dare not look if it were fell coming to finally finish them off, but she held Thranduil and clutched him hard. She left their fates in the hands of Ilúvatar.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> á fatanyu [quenya] - oh hell  
> suni [quenya] - bitch


	14. Chapter 14

Elithien felt nothing but peace. The quietness felt comfortable, almost as if she was in a deep slumber. It reminded her of her childhood, sitting in a meadow while her mother braided her hair. Elithien would select various wildflowers from around her, and each time she picked one her mother would take the flower and fix it into her tresses. She remembered the warm summer breeze and the trees swishing in the wind. 

A sparkle of light teased her eyelids. Strong patches of sunlight caused Elithien to squint from its brightness, allowing herself to adjust until she finally blinked awake.

_ Was this the Undying Lands? _ Elithien wondered if this was what it was like to be greeted within the Hall of Mandos. Her vision gradually came into focus and she made out thin curtains swaying in the open window, welcoming a gentle breeze. The rustle of leaves and their branches casting shadows against her skin left a cool sensation. The elleth slowly sat up. 

Her body was heavy and weak. When she glanced down she noticed she was only in an ivory chemise. She turned around and inspected the room, curious as to where she was. The familiar structure and furniture had her realise that she was not in Valinor but back in her old quarters in Greenwood. Elithien let out a heavy exhale.

She was not dead.

Elithien had little recollection after burying her face in the unconscious Prince’s chest. Everything after that was merely darkness, and now she rose alive, though certainly not unscathed. When the quendë was about to shift her legs to the edge of the bed, the use of her muscles sent a sharp sting through her left thigh. She hissed in pain and drew back the sheets to inspect her leg. A bandage was wrapped heavily around her thigh,  a faint, small patch of red staining the fabric. She lightly brushed over the bandage but pulled away when the mere contact left an unsettling soreness radiating around it.

Carefully, Elithien used the headboard to push herself up. Immediately she felt dizzy. She dropped back to sit on the bed to keep her head from further spinning. 

“My lady,” a surprised voice called. “You finally awaken!”

Elithien glanced up to find a servant with a stack of neatly folded clothing in her hands. The elleth set the pile aside and came to examine her. 

“What…” Elithien did not know where to begin, with hundreds of questions gradually forming. What has she missed? How long had it been?

“I know it is stressful to wake up with not a clue as to what happened, but allow me to brew some tea for you first.” She said this while giving Elithien a gentle pat on the shoulder. The servant dashed off before Elithien could answer.

When she returned, handing the teacup with a saucer to Elihien, the servant went to fetch the chair by her dresser. “May I mistress?” she asked.

Elithien nodded. “Please do not hesitate to do as you may please.”

The servant sat opposite of the quendë while patting her apron flat. Elithien inhaled the aroma of lavender and mint before taking a small sip. “Well, I am listening,” the Noldo said.

“You have been asleep for nearly two weeks,” the servant began. “The battle of Dagorlad… came at a large price. The Silvan army had nearly fallen and had it not been King Gil-Galad’s perseverance, the war may have been already lost. The High King succeeded in driving the orc army back and with their forces pushing forward, they managed to breach the Black Gate. The Alliance intends to siege Barad-dûr and perish Sauron once and for all.”

Discovering she had been out for two weeks came as an alarming surprise. It was evident the healers had treated her with medicines that had induced sleep, but she did not expect to rest for so long.

She glanced down at her bandaged thigh and wondered if there was a massive scar from the injury. Merely thinking about it made her shiver.

“I… I must go back,” Elithien answered. “My King needs me. My people need me. Míldir—“

“Most certainly not, mistress. You have been brought back to Greenwood in the effort to treat your wounds properly. Even then, you are certainly in no condition to fight.”

“While I appreciate your concern, you have no right to decide if it is in my best interests to stay here. The Silvan are no longer my people.  _ My people _ are out there, and I must return to them at once.”

“But mistress—“

“—Lyssa, you are dismissed.” A voice came from the corner of the room.

Elithien and the servant turned towards the source and found Halloth standing there in a deep black dress--a colour that was reserved in times of grievance.

The servant, Lyssa, quickly bowed and darted out of the room. With the two of them alone, Elithien could only watch as Halloth stared at her with a distant, but sympathetic look. It had been years since the silver maiden last saw her old friend.

“How are you feeling?” Halloth asked as she took several steps closer.

“Everything aches. Sleeping for so long only makes me feel sluggish and unfit.” 

“At least you are in one piece.”

“I… thank you, your majesty,” Elithien said, unsure how to address her. The elleth assumed Halloth had long become Queen of Greenwood by now.

Halloth let out a bitter laugh. “I suppose you will be pleased to hear when I say I am no Queen. The marriage was called off years ago—a month in fact, after your departure.”

Elithien blinked in surprise. She was about to respond but Halloth interrupted her and continued.

“I already know what you are thinking to ask me. The arrangement was dismissed after Thranduil defied and challenged his father. As a result, their family was in an endless dispute. Oropher insisted that it would be resolved, month-after-month. But as each season went by, the issue remained stagnant. Oropher could not bring himself to lose his son, but Thranduil refused to come to a compromise.” 

Elithien had not a single clue of Thranduil’s rebellion against the crown and his father. It left her heart clenching with hope at the thought that he had not simply forgotten. And yet, it was quickly replaced with doubt as to why he hadn’t tried to reach her. Surely if he had done so, would he not consider to come to find her afterwards? Something did not quite add up, and she was not sure why.

“Halloth,” Elithien spoke as gently as she could. “There is so much I wish to say to you.”

“And I do not want to hear any of it,” she replied curtly. “I am far from forgiving you.”

The harsh declaration left a sting in Elithien, but she knew Halloth was in the right.

She sighed. “Then why have you come here if you loathe me so?”

“I came to inform you that you have been chosen to honour the King for your deed by rescuing the only heir left to Oropher, and attempting to save the King’s life.”

“Attempting?” Elithien responded with confusion. “Why would they—“

And then it struck her like a whiplash. The vividness of her farewell to Oropher and pulling Thranduil away came all rushing back at once. She remembered praying to Oropher—her final words to him, handing him her dagger and even his secret of him and Aurë. It was clear now that the King of the Woodland Realm had passed and the entire kingdom was grieving. 

“Congratulations. You are now known as the Hero of the Woodland King,” Halloth said, though her conviction was anything but genuine. Elithien did not respond, so Halloth exhaled sharply and squared her shoulders. “The ceremony is to be held by the end of the month.”

Elithien simply nodded, knowing there was no point persuading Halloth to talk any further.

“Good. I will leave you to your recovery then,” Halloth said with the briefest bow.

Elithien fell back onto the bed and brought her hands to her face. She exhaled tiredly, pressing her palm against her closed eyes until she saw spots.

Part of her wished she had woken up in the Undying Lands instead.

 

**☽**  


 

In a heavy gown made of dreary black velvet, Elithien walked along the seemingly endless procession, refraining from glancing at the many quendi staring at her. Some watched her with confusion, others disappointment, but most of all they looked at her with respect.

She dug her fingernails further into her palm and straightened her posture. She tried to ignore the soreness from her recovering leg. Although she was able to walk around again, she was still unable to do anything strenuous.

Behind her followed the closest members of the monarchy. This included Oropher’s elite guards, his council, close friends and in-laws to his wife. The only elf that was not part of this walk was Thranduil, who stood at the top of a lone hill that soon came into sight. The clearing was decorated with gardens of mistflower, which was known to be Oropher’s favourite. At the centre was a cairn of stones where the King now laid to rest. 

It took a lot of strength to withhold any emotions she had towards the Prince. Elithien reminded herself that she could discuss everything she wished to say after the ceremony. When the elleth met with Thranduil, he handed her the Elvenking’s sword and stepped aside to give her the attention of his people. The path she had previously walked was now replaced with an audience that gathered around her as they awaited her speech.  

Elithien drew a long inhale. She paused for several seconds before she began. 

“Quendi of the Wood, today we mourn the loss of a great leader. Some of you may think of me as atrocious, speaking for the Silvan that I have humiliated many years ago, while others may think I am blessed by Eru himself for what I have done at the battle of Dagorlad. Whatever your stance, know that I am not here for appraisal, nor am I any hero to the Oropherion family. I have simply done what any elf would have in my place. Even as I talk, I feel as though I do not deserve to speak for the King, but we are not here to discuss my actions nor the past. Let this day be a remembrance for Oropher. May his legacy of the Wood carry throughout the millennia, for his wish of strengthening the bonds amongst our people and to heal the divide we have between one another. We are all children of Ilúvatar, and if it is Oropher’s desire to mend our kin, then I ask that you may grant him this and love our brethren. Let none divide us any longer, and treat one another truly as brother and sister. The Noldor,  _ my people, _ may be known to be unwavering and prideful but there are also many amongst us who desire to learn of our siblings. The ongoing war has caused a great loss for many of us and it pains me to know that thousands of our warriors are out there fighting night and day for the protection and peace of Varda. I wish for those whom we have lost and for King Oropher of the Woodland Realm, that they may find peace in the Halls of Mandos and rebirth to live the glorious days in Valinor.  _ Na lû e-govaned vîn _ .”

Elithien raised the sword to the sky and allowed for several minutes of silence. She whispered a prayer for his farewell while closing her eyes, and once she had finished, the elleth brought the sword down and returned it to Thranduil. The silver maiden stepped away and moved to the side of the crowd. It was the Prince’s turn to end the ceremony with his speech.

Thranduil’s words gradually fazed out as Elithien’s eyes drifted around the crowd. A few caught her gaze and exchanged a nod with her before resuming their attention onto him. She dropped her head and stared at the dark fabric that swept the grounds. 

Even if they didn’t like her, she had at least regained some of their respect.

 

**☽**  


 

Squeezing through a crowd to search for Thranduil was a chore. 

After the ceremony, they had all returned to Amon Lanc and held a feast in his honour. Many of their elven neighbours had come to visit and pay their respects, and on this rare occasion, the human chieftain had come to offer his condolences as well. By the time the quendë managed to reach the front of the hall, Thranduil had walked off elsewhere and she lost sight of him again. She cursed under her breath.

“That was quite a speech you gave there.”

Elithien turned to find Ruieth in uniform with her arms folded. Her expression was stern but it wasn’t hostile. The silver maiden tucked her hair nervously behind her ear.

“My room is filled with crumpled papers of failed drafts. No matter how many times I tried to write the right eulogy, it only sounded ingenuine. I was not close to Oropher. All I have done was humiliate him and his entire kingdom. To speak about him compared to hundred of others far more worthy of the dedication he deserved, it felt… wrong.”

“Unlike the hundred elves who certainly may be far more loyal to Oropher, you saved the one thing in his life that he cherished above anything else: his son.”

Elithien fell silent. 

“Listen,” Ruieth began. “Everyone in this room knows of the story of what transpired at Mordor. When the Prince reported the events to the council, word travelled quickly. The Silvan felt like they have lost everything from this battle; to have one good thing still live and carry on their name, it was natural that some may feel like you are their saviour.”

“Despite after everything I have done?” Elithien said.

A grin tugged on Ruieth’s lips. “I suggest you stop moaning over your self-hatred and accept the Silvans’ forgiveness. They would have hoped you matured enough to move on from the past and have become a better person than you used to be. Or am I to believe your years of banishment had taught you nothing?”

“No,” Elithien said while shaking her head. “It was a lesson well learned.”

"Then we have nothing further to discuss,” Ruieth concluded. She walked away.

Elithien was not sure if that was necessarily forgiveness from her former companion, but it was certainly a start to recovery.

 

**☽**  


 

With a lot of patience, the quendë was finally able to find Thranduil. Approaching the Prince, and without any prior greeting, he turned on his heel and beckoned her to follow him into a private room. Elithien hastily went after him and closed the door behind them once they were inside. 

“I know you have been seeking me all night,” Thranduil said, taking a glass from the table and selecting a decanter. He poured himself a small drink and then turned to face her. He took a sip and then set the glass down. “What is it that you wish to say?” he asked.

“I… am sorry for your father’s loss. I know what it is like to lose one,” she started.

Thranduil scoffed. “I have heard enough sympathy from everyone today. My father’s recklessness was his own fault. He chose to attack when the plan was to specifically wait for Gil-Galad’s orders. He brought this upon himself.” He took another sip.

“You cannot simply think that,” she said.

“Oh but I most certainly do.”

Silence fell upon both of them. She waited for him to re-initiate the conversation but all he did was drink.

She gave up and spoke first.

“Are we really going to ignore the elephant in the room?” Elithien crossed her arms.

“Speak, then.”

She shook her head and took a few steps forward. “I have not seen you for over a hundred years and the first time we meet, you looked at me as though I did not even exist!” 

Thranduil did not respond so she continued.

“I… missed you. So much. You do not know how much I longed to see you again.” Elithien searched for any reaction but all she saw were dead eyes that stared back at her. She fought not to cry in front of him. “Have you… Forgotten about us? Was everything we promised to one another all for nought?”

The Prince downed the rest of his drink and set the glass aside. He pushed off from the table he was leaning against and approached the elleth. 

“I am grateful that you saved my life and tried to save my father’s as well. For that, I am eternally indebted to you.” He lifted a hand like he was about to caress her face, but paused midway. “However I request that you never speak of us or our past again.” He dropped his hand.

Elithien fought hard to bite back the tears. She clenched her fists until her nails were marking her skin. 

“I see,” she whispered through a shaky breath. “Forgive me for overstepping my boundaries. I will intrude you no longer.”

“I appreciate that you respect my wishes,” he said monotonously. “I want to let you know that you are welcome to remain here and retake your position if you are eager to. The work you offered before have proven to be invaluable to us, or at least to the council. However, you are more than free to return to Lindon if your heart so desires.”

“Thank you, my lord,” she muttered, tearing her eyes away from him. “I will consider your proposition.”

The ellon offered a curt nod, and walked past Elithien. “I must return to the feast. Enjoy the rest of the night, my lady,” he said. He left the room.

As soon as the door closed behind Thranduil, the tears gave way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Na lû e-govaned vîn[sindarin] - until next we meet


	15. Chapter 15

The time for grievance in Greenwood was cut short. Despite the loss of the Silvan’s ruler, the on-going war and the lack of direction called for immediate action. With Elithien’s injury now only a pink scar, she was able to walk and retrain her muscles. In the end, she decided to reappoint her job as a diplomat. It was unlikely she would be able to return to the battlefield, but she figured she could fight in a different manner. Political strategy and influence could be as powerful as a sharp blade.

Maeldir represented Lindon’s forces and was their mediator. Of all the people in the Woodland Realm, he would always be the first to know the status of Gil-Galad’s army and it was at his discretion, should he share whatever information he received. Elithien knew Maeldir was withholding information because she became his assistant and eventually, his delegate. Despite her shortcomings with his daughter, he had known Elithien since she was born and her previous relationship with Halloth had influenced him to consider her like family.

Although Elithien was not officially part of the Council, they were in desperate need to maintain the peace between the Silvan, Noldor and Sindar. The grave loss of nearly two-thirds of the Wood elves made it difficult for those remaining to accept the tragedy, and it was easier to blame others for the cost of their defeat. Whispers from the Silvan accused the Noldor of not aiding their allies and left them to die, while the Noldor in Greenwood accused Oropher of his recklessness and cost not only the lives of the Silvan, but the Alliance as well.

While political unrest continued to worsen, no progress was being made to resolve it. The council would often convene a meeting only to end it with nonsensical bickering and more unsolved issues. It was only when Maeldir suggested their primary reason for their lack of unity was that there was no one to lead them and it was time for Thranduil to take his father’s place and ascend the throne. To the council’s initial dismay, they rejected the idea when there was no queen to assist him nor did they believe he was ready for such responsibilities. It took a lot of persuasion from Maeldir to adhere to his suggestion, presenting countless logistics of their economic and military progression. Even if the traditions of marriage and further preparation for their next king would have to be exempted for this critical time, it convinced the rest of the Council that their rapidly declining kingdom would continue to deteriorate unless they had a ruler that could decide the final say and finally leave their limbo of not knowing what to do.

And thus it was agreed. With no queen nor official preparation for Thranduil’s ascension, Elithien and Maeldir had been locked in his office for day-and-night, writing endless reports on Greenwood’s decision and relaying their information to the Noldor and Sindar elves: in less than a fortnight, the Woodland Realm would soon have a new King.

 

**☽**

 

Elithien did not think she would ever step into the room where she was sentenced to exile. The once intimidating size, filled with towering pillars and an ancient golden tree, was now filled with rows of seated elves and with only one strip of open space from the entrance to the steps that lead to the throne. The quendë wore special robes of the Noldor, the highest form of court dressing amongst their people. The ensemble was a dress in a deep midnight blue, but it was customarily also in colours of gold and silver. Its silhouette tapered from the shoulders to waist, while a velvet cloak embroidered with the scenic landscape from Valinor or Beleriand was favoured as a design. In Elithien’s case, it was the coasts of the Undying Lands known for its rich abundance of jewels and pearls that were littered across the shores. The cloak was finished with animal fur to commemorate the pride of their skilled hunting. A circlet designed with Noldorin motifs, traditionally in gold, rested upon the crown of their heads. It was once said this was how the first of the Noldor who walked the grounds of Valinor would dress in the presence of the Valar.

 

 

The elleth sat at the front alongside Maeldir, while Halloth sat merely one seat away from her. The Sindarin Princess made every effort to ignore her. Elithien reminded herself that her intentions of aiding her people were greater than herself.

The council’s seer, Cendir approached the edge of the platform and raised his arms. “All rise for the coronation of the Second King of the Woodland Realm,” he announced.

Along with everyone else, Elithien stood and turned to glance at the entrance. There Thranduil began to cross the room, donned in the most elegant robes Elithien had ever seen. Every thread seemed to be made of silver, shimmering with each step. His deep crimson-lined robe hung low around his arms and served as a train, sweeping the floor like a waterfall of rubies. He bore no circlet or jewellery, save a brooch that she believed was smelted from what used to be his father’s crown.

Her heart clenched with uncertainty as she watched the ellon walk down the aisle. It was impossible to not be completely entranced by all his grace, how he carried himself so majestically with every light step.

The old yet familiar taste of bitter heartbreak simmered in the pit of her stomach. All the years of faith she had for Thranduil made her only feel so naive and foolish to allow her heart to rule over her. The last bit of hope she had to salvage their relationship diminished the night of Oropher’s funeral. She wished she had never been so immature in her life and perhaps then, she would’ve had a happier future with someone who would care for her.

When Thranduil reached the steps, the seer told them to be seated.

“Let the Valar witness this sacred ceremony to pass the reign of power from King Oropher, Sindarin elf of Doriath, founder of the Wood and protector of the Silvan, who now walks amongst the Valar in the Hall of Mandos, to his son, Thranduil Oropherion, the rightful heir to the throne,” Cendir proclaimed with raised arms.

The seer turned to his assistant who then passed a carved staff made of beechwood, taking it with two hands. Cendir stretched his arms towards Thranduil.   
“Take this staff, the symbol of Greenwood, and pledge your oath in the eyes of Eru and the Lords of the Valar as your true witness,” Cendir said. Thranduil gripped the staff, turning it upright and grounded it against the stone floor. Sliding down to a kneel, he bowed his head and raised his free hand up to the Gods.

“I, Thranduil Oropherion, son of Oropher, rightful heir to the Woodland Realm and all within it, hereby solemnly in the presence of Eru Ilúvatar, Manwë the true King of the Valar and all of the Ainur, swear to govern the Silvan of the Woodland Realm, and the dominions pertaining to their respective customs; to cause law and justice in mercy to be executed in all judgements; to oppose those that threaten our home and people; to perform my rightful duties to the end of days, and to bring prosperity and growth to our mighty Kingdom. All this I swear in the presence of Eru and all the Ainur as my witness that I will carry my duty as King,” Thranduil said.

Cendir took a crown fashioned in twisted branches, adorned with elderberries and red leaves, and placed it upon Thranduil’s bowed head. When fixed over his hair, the seer took a step back and continued the invocation.

“Rise, Thranduil Oropherion. Yesterday you walk in the shadows of your father. Today you lead the Silvan as the new King of the Woodland Realm.”

Thranduil stood, turning to face the crowd before him. It left a chill in Elithien. He was destined for this path, and no matter how conflicted the silver maiden felt towards Thranduil, she would admit no one else suited the crown more than he.

“I ask the council of Greenwood to step forth and pledge your allegiance your King,” the seer said.

The five members, including Elithien, rose and formed a line before Thranduil. Each of them took turns coming forward and kneeling down to pledge their oath.

“I swear, with Eru as my witness, that I lend my hand, my loyalty and my service to King Thranduil. May he reign for eternity,” the treasurer of Greenwood said.

Maeldir went next, moving forward and imitating the same gesture.

“Representing the Sindar of Lindon and to High King Gil-Galad, I swear, with Eru as my witness, that I lend my hand, my loyalty, and my service to King Thranduil. May he reign for eternity,” Maeldir pledged.

It was Elithien’s turn. When Maeldir returned, she stepped forward. The quendë positioned herself in front of Thranduil. She brought her gaze towards the Silvan King, her expression forming into a hard grimace. He merely looked at her with hollow eyes and waited for her pledge.

“Representing the Noldor, not only of Lindon, but all of Middle Earth, I swear, with Eru as my witness, that I lend my hand, my loyalty, and my service to King Thranduil.”

She never broke her gaze as she invoked her oath. Thranduil shifted his weight on his other leg and granted her nothing but a stranger’s stare.

“May he reign for eternity,” Elithien finished, rising up and returning to the rest of the council.

The seer raised his arms and cried aloud to the audience. “ _Alae_! All hail King Thranduil!”

The crowd cheered, chanting until the room resonated with praises. Elithien watched the coronation’s conclusion as Thranduil stood before all of them. A Prince yesterday; a King today. From the corner of the room, she could only spectate the new King.

The ellon that stood there was no longer the ellon she once loved, no matter how much he looked every bit of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alae - [sindarin] behold


	16. Chapter 16

Elithien reached for her tea and took a long sip as she leaned against the balcony of one of the courtyards that sat by a cliff, observing the people of Greenwood. She closed her eyes and relished the peace of the woodlands whispering in the winds. The elleth drew another sip while reflecting on the last several months.

After Thranduil’s coronation, tensions from the uncertainty of the war were gradually resolved. The council had worked closely with the King to recover the losses they suffered from the Battle of Dagorlad, hoping to offer compensation to families that have lost their loved ones from it. Another moon later, news that Sauron had been defeated by  the Alliance spread. The war came to a final conclusion. Life gradually returned to its peaceful state.

For a while, Elithien found herself content in assisting Maeldir, despite no longer having a direct seat in the council. Her scandal with Thranduil and her heroic title of King-saviour eventually dissipated into tales that the Silvan moved on from. It was the redemption Elithien never thought she would ever be granted. The elleth managed to reconcile with Ruieth and the captain quickly became her fitness partner. Aurë would occasionally send letters and gifts from home. Míldir intended to visit Greenwood to see his sister.

All was well.

However, it did not take long before Elithien felt the restlessness tugging at her mind. She desired to be more involved in Greenwood’s political agenda for the benefit of her people. The quendë admitted that she may have forgotten her initial intentions moving to the Wood, but as the Alliance was officially disbanded, the Silvan’s obligation to the quendi outside of Greenwood were no longer compulsory, and the already-thin thread that held them together would dissolve into nothing but a memory.

It was on this notion she decided she no longer wanted to be Maeldir’s assistant, but rather sit amongst the Council of the Woodland Realm.

Elithien moved away from the balcony and headed to the royal wing. She had not been there for so long that she had completely forgotten about the private greenhouse. It saddened her to think she had never gotten the opportunity to grow and nurture anything inside it despite Thranduil granting her permission to use it at her own discretion. She imagined had she been able to, the glass house would be filled with hundreds of matured botanical species by now.

It did not take long before two guards approached and halted her, their intimidating heavy armour glistening in warning. Elithien straightened and greeted them politely.

“I am here to see the King,” she announced.

“Only those who have an official invitation may appeal for his majesty’s audience,” the guard replied.

“I come with urgent business. Please, let me through.”

“No invitation, no entry.”

“I am one of the advisors to the King. Surely you must recognise me.”

“Sorry Lady Elithien, but his majesty gave strict orders this week not to be disturbed unless one receives an invitation. Rest assured I am sure all council matter will be addressed before the week ends.”

Elithien sighed. The sudden thought to charm the guards with a little bit of magic crossed her mind, but she quickly dismissed it. It was not worth it. She had learned her lesson about impulsive behaviour long ago.

“Could you at least inform the King that I was here?”

The guard nodded. “That we could do, my lady.”

“Thank you.” She bowed before turning her heel and walking off.

As she made her way down the stairs, the sound of metal clashing together neared towards her. Elithien turned around and saw the guard jogging down the steps.

“My lady,” he huffed. “The King wishes to see you at once.”

 

**☽**

 

There was something undeniably intimate about visiting Thranduil’s private quarters for the first time, especially since he had moved to the King’s chambers. She had always wondered what the ellon’s chamber would be like; if it was as lavish as he dressed or if it would be a simple but neatly organised space.

It wasn’t a surprise when she was greeted with a grand room that split into different parts. It was, after all, the King’s chambers. There was a cosiness to it despite its large size. The main room consisted of a table with six chairs all perfectly spaced apart. She assumed this was a private meeting room for when he preferred to convene. Her eyes travelled around like the curious elf she was and found the heavy motif of rich mahogany wood and deep maroon, dimly-lit with warm amber candles remarkably inviting.

Elithien pulled away from the distractions and moved into the room, knocking against a wooden column to make her presence known.

“Your majesty?” There was no response.

The quendë decided to explore the space. There were two main archways on each side, the rest leading into bay windows or a tucked bookshelf. She went into the left one first but realised was a private armoury. Elithien turned back to the main entrance and noticed there was a divider behind the long table. She peeked her head through and saw more books, a sofa and a desk filled with stacked papers. _It must have been his office_ , she mused. Through the short hallway into a smaller room was a bed draped with sheets that spilt onto the floor, layered with thick fur hanging by the edge of it. A massive hearth was already lit. Thranduil sat in a plush seat by the large balcony windows while he studied a game of chess by himself. And naturally, there was a glass of wine in his hand.

She was mesmerised by the light from the fireplace casting a warm glow against his cheekbones, noticing the hardened lines on his face while completely focused in his game. How she wished the guard had been too late calling her back so she could have simply sent a letter instead.

“Your majesty,” she said, clearing her throat after it nearly cracked halfway through speaking.

“I will be with you in a second,” he said with his concentration still on his game. She twiddled with her fingers while she waited, her eyes drawn to the extravagant bed. She began counting the number of pillows resting against the headboard. One too many, she quickly concluded.

“You wish to speak with me?” Thranduil said. Elithien turned, watching him rise and approach her. Standing in front of the fireplace, she now studied his expression hidden behind the shadows. It was stern.

“I love my people,” she started, getting straight to the point. “Each year our numbers dwindle as more decide to sail west. Those who decide to remain here and settle amongst the other elves of Middle Earth have become rare. With fewer Noldor left, our leadership weakens.”

“I came to Greenwood as a delegate. It has always been my true purpose to maintain our legacy and I will continue to assure their protection. The years allowed me to grow wise and know that there are greater things than I. With King Gil-Galad gone, the Noldor rule ends and now we only have Lord Círdan watching over the western land. Without our King, there is no real governing body dedicated to them. Even if I can only aid few who dwell within these walls, it is still my desire to be the quendë that oversee these people. If I can help them in any way, it would bring me great relief.”

Thranduil moved to the shelf with rows of vintage bottles. He filled two glasses from it and handed one to Elithien. The elleth chugged her glass and then traded his drink to replace her empty one. He only watched her in amusement.

“A rather commendable, dare I say, inspiring speech,” he said, refilling the glass she returned to him and sipped. Elithien took the bottle from his hand after he was finished and mimicked him. The bottle was nearly empty by then.

“So you wish to govern the Noldor of Greenwood. Have you not considered it is the King’s duty to rule over all subjects within the Woodland Realm? Not only the Silvan but the Noldor, the Sindar and any elf or creature that dwell within my borders?”

“I am not here to disrespect your sovereignty,” Elithien replied. “So long as we are within your lands and I am one of your subjects, I do not intend to overstep my boundaries. My only wish is to be an advisor to you on behalf of the Noldor. Should you choose to overrule my judgments, then I will respect them."

Thranduil allowed several seconds to linger before he answered.

“My answer is no.”

Elithien’s lips dropped to a disappointed grimace. “But why, my lord? Surely you recognise my qualifications. You said so yourself that my skills were greatly welcomed.”

He averted his eyes. Something about his behaviour seemed odd, like he looked… uncomfortable.

“You owe me,” Elithien said bluntly. “You said that you were indebted to me for saving your life. Grant me this and I shall never ask a favour from you again.”

“No. I am sorry but I cannot grant you what you desire.”

Elithien’s expression shifted to a suspicious glare. “Cannot or _will not_?”

Thranduil snapped his gaze to her, with the faintest hint of embarrassment. _There it was. Guilt._

With the warmth of wine upon her cheeks combined with her rising temper, she began to feel dizzy. Elithien tried to shake off the buzz and further provoked him.

“This is not because I do not qualify or that a lady does not belong in the council, for I know you care not if the entire council were ladies so long as the job was efficiently done. It is simply because you dislike the idea of working closely with me, not even for professional reasons!”

The reaction of his eyebrows raising and his cheeks reddening only proved to her that she was right. She groaned exasperatedly and raised her arms in the air.

“By Ilúvatar! What is it that you are not telling me? It should be _I_ that is angry at you!”

“Enough! You have heard of my answer. I will not have you on the council,” he said, his nostrils flaring.

“What on Arda would it take for me to qualify then?” She was pleading at this point.

“You could never qualify for you have no legitimate ties to Greenwood. Maeldir at least does.”

Elithien folded her arms. “Then I shall remain here until you provide me with a valid reason as to why my proposition is rejected.”

She made an added effort to prove her point by dropping herself on the edge of his bed and crossed her legs.

“This is childish,” the ellon grimaced. He approached her and folded his arms, mirroring her. “Get up.”

She shrugged. “Not until I get my answer.”

“Do not think I will use force to escort you out.”

Elithien leaned forward until she was glaring directly under his nose. “I suggest you ask your two guards to come in and help, then.”

The King swore under his breath before surrendering to the fight. He went to fetch a new bottle, something much stronger. By habit, Elithien stretched the hand she held her empty glass with and waited for it to be filled. He poured the liquor into her cup and then joined beside her.  

They sat in silence while they took occasional sips.

Elithien was frustrated that the King was stubborn as he could ever be but she refused to lose the fight. She had no problem challenging him until she finally got the answer she was looking for. She took this moment to devise a new plan.

It didn’t take long until she came up with one. She had fought him with speech but she had yet to fight him with deceit.

When Elithien’s glass was finished, she stood up, set the glass aside and then stalked up to the King. He furrowed his brows suspiciously, stiffening as she neared. Remaining in silence, she plucked Thranduil’s drink, finished his wine and then tossed it over her shoulder. The sound of glass shattered behind the elleth.

“You are clearly intoxicated,” Thranduil muttered.

She ignored his comment. “Ready to tell me now?”

“I have nothing more to say.”

Elithien leaned forward, paying no mind that she was invading his personal space. He leaned back as a response.

“No?” she pressed.

“No,” he affirmed. The ellon’s eyes were scanning her face down to her hands that now rested on his lap. His expression hardened with a flicker of desire.

When Thranduil licked his dry lips, she dived in and caught his lips, the force causing him to fall over and land flat against the bed. She wasted no second to climb over him and settle on his lap.

She felt him go stiff. The elleth let her eyelids flutter close, breathing in the scent of wine lingering upon his lips. The state of shock slowly dissipated and she braced for the hard shove away. Instead, she felt him catching her lips and leaning into her.

It was starvation. Like someone who had not eaten for weeks and was suddenly given the sweetest and most succulent fruit in existence. His hunger was animalistic. Thranduil’s hands found its way to her wrists, his fingertips brushing along her arms until it found her waist. She was so caught up in his ministrations, an unexpected gasp escaped her lips when his fingernails dug into her back, practically clawing her in desperation.

Thranduil was like an addiction she had immediately been pulled back into. Elithien felt her thoughts linger away and was replaced with an insatiable desire for him. With her hands now free, she brought them to his jawline. His tongue pushed between her lips and she gripped him tighter, responding with equal enthusiasm. His hands continued to roam her back, gliding up to entangle his fingers in her locks and tugging it when she anchored her head to kiss him deeper.

Elithien did not know how many minutes had passed when she felt Thranduil draw his legs up and towards them, resulting in the elleth sliding from his thighs onto his hips. Her heart skipped a beat when she felt him firmly against her. Hard and wanting.

It was the shock of pleasure that had pulled her back into reality, shuddering when he shifted and felt him throb against her. Thranduil had completely relaxed under her, sinking further into the sheets while his arms were firmly on her waist. She finally gathered the strength and reluctantly yanked herself away from the King. Elithien stumbled away from the bed.

She gasped for breath, cheeks flushed with a bright shade of pink while she adjusted one of her dress sleeves to rest back on her shoulder. The quendë watched the King lean up and swipe his swollen lips with his thumb. He looked up at her at first with confusion before it was quickly replaced with a flash of betrayal.

Elithien saw his mouth part, likely to yell at her but she quickly interrupted him and spoke first.

“Marry me.”

His mouth remained agape.

Still in visible disbelief, the ellon repeatedly opened and closed his mouth, seemingly unable to find the right answer. His eyebrows gradually furrowed in confusion when he finally managed to utter words again.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me,” she answered flatly. Elithien folded her arms. “If your petty excuse is going to be legitimacy, then becoming your wife would grant me my position.”

Thranduil grimaced. “Are you seriously asking for me for your hand in marriage so that you could get a _promotion_?”

“Yes, I am,” Elithien said without hesitation. “By now I would do anything for my people.”

He scoffed and shook his head. Elithien prepared to leave. It took every bone in her body to stop herself from shaking, his touch still lingering hot against her skin.

“Consider my proposal, my lord. This kingdom will need a queen and you are still greatly indebted to me.”

Drawing back, the elleth left the King, keeping her chin high with the illusion of pride. It was only when she was well away from the royal wing did she break, staggering against the wall and clasping a shaking hand over her mouth to hold back a ragged sob.


	17. Chapter 17

Remembering the palace greenhouse had given Elithien a craving to nurture life. She found a quaint spot by the cliffside balconies already filled with soil. She was sure if she used a small corner to grow a few herbs, the gardeners would not even notice.

It has been nearly a fortnight since she had last spoken with Thranduil. She had not actually planned to ask for his hand in marriage but during the heat of the moment it had come out of her mouth, and only now could she consider the weight of her words.

Marrying the ellon who had broken her heart seemed like a terrible plan. Even if their partnership was intended for political reasons, it would not come without old sentiments. Marriage in elven culture was traditionally a union born of love. Monarchy was slightly different when the bride or groom had responsibilities beyond themselves. If they were lucky, they would find suitable partners with whom they also emotionally connected with.

Elithien leaned closer to the soil until her head was level with her new garden and observed the sprouts that had emerged from the earth. Watching them grow and then imagining them one day blooming with green foliage and flowers left her with a grin. The quendë envisioned these sprouts representing her people. She wanted to give the same, if not more, care and dedication. She knew she was set in her heart to make this her life goal, and the inspiration from that was enough to reassure her that she took the right risk.

As Elithien finished watering her seedlings, a shadow cast over her. Before she could turn around to find the source, she felt a sudden sharp poke on the curve of her spine. The Noldo yelped and turned to rise from her kneeling position.

To her complete surprise, a very unexpected ellon stood in front of her.

“Míldir?” she gasped, immediately reaching for an embrace. He laughed and hugged her tightly in return.

“What are you doing here? I did not think you would be coming until summer,” Elithien drew back to inspect her dear friend.

“Such a lovely thing to hear after coming all the way here to see you,” he answered sarcastically, though his grin was still as bright as the sun.

“Oh how I have missed you,” she said. She went to hug him again. He gave her a playful squeeze as he briefly lifted her off the ground.

“Likewise. As much as I have every intention of stealing you for the rest of the day, there is someone far more important than I to see you.”

Míldir gestured towards the entrance of the palace. Elithien’s mother stood there, all beautiful in gold and beige emerging from the shadow.

“Amil!” Elithien cried. She sprinted towards Aurë and tackled her into a hug. Elithien’s tears welled up as she held her mother tight.

“Hello again, _yelya_ ,” Aurë greeted her as she stroked her silver locks. “Darling, do guide me to Oropher’s resting place. I would like to pay my respects to him.”

Elithien happily obliged, wrapping her arm around her mother’s as she beckoned them away. Elithien turned over her shoulder to glance at Míldir who was now waving at them.

“Remember, I’m next, lady Aurë!” he called out.

Her mother only laughed and muttered how Míldir resembled a puppy.

 

**☽**

 

When Elithien and Aurë stood in front of Oropher’s cairn--the stones now blanketed with moss--her mother released her hand and approached. Elithien watched Aurë kneel down and mutter something that she wasn’t able to pick up. She waited patiently until her mother was done and stood.

There was a fallen log just behind his burial. Aurë walked towards it and sat down, patting the space beside her as an offer. Elithien went to the vacant spot and took a seat.

“I suppose I owe you the truth,” Aurë said, pulling out a folded letter from her pouch. Elithien immediately recognised it. It was the letter she sent right after Oropher’s funeral, demanding answers for Oropher’s aforementioned affair with her mother.

The younger quendë felt her smile falter away. She shrugged and waited for Aurë to explain herself.

Her mother sighed and stared at the cairn. “I should have told you the condition imposed on our family long before you moved here. I was forbidden to come here as a promise to your father after hurting and betraying him. The ultimatum did not officially extend to you as you were not even born then, but I assume your father never wanted the Oropherion family anywhere near ours.

She paused and was silent, like she was recalling the events of that very day. Then Aurë continued, “But you became the most precious soul to me, and I would do anything in the world to see you happy. When you expressed your desire to becoming an emissary in Greenwood, I could not deny you your dream. I knew the risks of allowing you to come here, but I did not think much of it for you were still young and Halloth was already decided for Thranduil. I could see no real harm of you living there, so long as you carry on with your work. I am aware you may have to interact with the late King and his son once in a while, as your duties entail you to, but it never occurred to me that you would fall in love with him.”

Elithien swallowed this information while reflecting on the anecdote Oropher told her. Her story matched his explanation. “You knew I harboured feelings for Thranduil and advised against it. Why had you not just told me the truth then and save me the pain of everything that came afterwards?”

Aurë looked guilty and bowed her head shamefully. “I was afraid of breaking your heart.”

“But you knew it would end much worse had you let the situation unravel on its own,” Elithien said angrily.

“I know. I will never forgive myself for burdening you with my past and hurting you in the process.”

Elithien sighed and shook her head. “Do not blame yourself for this mess. It is still mine and Thranduil’s burden to bear. We should not have been indulging with one another to begin with. He was already arranged for someone else. Our reckless and naive love was destined to crumble.”

Birds chirped and the leaves rustled in the wind, filling the silence between them. Elithien took her mother’s hand into her lap and brushed it with her thumb. Even if she were still wounded by the truth, she would still love Aurë unconditionally.

“Is it true that your relationship with Oropher was when you were already betrothed to _Adar_?” Elithien asked.

Aurë nodded. “Yes. Your father was the kindest and bravest soul I ever knew. He asked me very early in marriage and it seemed completely right to agree, even if at the time, I had yet to fully know your father. His charisma and selfnesses were irresistibly attractive and l was immediately swept away.”

“If he is as dreamy as you describe him to be, then why did you hurt him like that?” The words came out far more bitter than she intended it to be, but it reflected how she honestly felt, and Elithien suddenly felt very protective of her father.

“I was foolish and young then. I grew up the most well-mannered and behaved quendë I could be. I was never exposed to mischief and perversity. And as odd as it may seem, I was longing for some chaos and disruption in my life. Oropher was that; the chaos that filled the void in me. When I first met Oropher in Doriath, he was elusive yet always right behind me. There was something alluring about him that your father lacked. He was shamelessly coquettish even when he knew I was already taken by someone else. He had no care for the world if he were severely punished for stealing another ellon’s lover, he knew what he wanted and he pursued it.”

It was peculiar hearing Aurë talk about the father of her former lover seducing her mother but a part of her empathised with her. Thranduil had certainly carried his father’s traits over.

Elithien knew it was typically considered inappropriate to ask one’s parent of their personal lives, especially when it was crude but given that she was owed the truth, she pressed her luck.

“Did you and Oropher…” her voice trailed away, awkwardness surfacing for asking a very private detail. “Did you bed him?”

Aurë swallowed uncomfortably but she answered her. “Oropher was my first.”

Elithien was relieved her mother spared the details as the thought about her mother and Oropher getting intimate was too embarrassing to imagine.  

“I can see the topic has become uncomfortable for both of us. I hope my explanation was enough for us to move on.”

“Well, I do have news that could easily replace it.”

Her mother shifted to look at her.

“And I do not think you are going to like it,” Elithien said.

 

**☽**

 

It came to no surprise that her mother’s mouth dropped. Elithien was not in the mood to explain the full story but she made it a point that she was determined to gain the status she required to qualify as a ruler.

“Are you sure you are comfortable with dedicating the rest of your life alongside Thranduil? After all that has happened?” Aurë asked, concern evident in her tone.

“I admit it is daunting marrying an ellon when I still have conflicting feelings over him. But if Thranduil--if he does agree by some miracle, I would assume we would come to a mutual agreement that this arrangement is to be purely professional,” Elithien responded.

“Darling, I do not think you understand the gravity of marriage. Once you enter this arrangement you cannot go back. Divorcing a King is taboo and you will never be free to love anyone else ever again. Your relationship will no longer remain in the confines between the two of you but extends out to the entire kingdom. Are you prepared to live in a loveless marriage?”

Elithien looked almost sadly at her mother. “I am.”

Aurë was careful to consider her answer. She reached out to rest her hand on Elithien’s stomach, and said: “I hope you are prepared to bear Thranduil many children, then.”

This was the first time Elithien’s unwavering determination shook a little. Though she was aware of a queen’s responsibility, it had completely slipped her mind that she would be obligated to produce many heirs for the King in order to secure his line. Whether they would miraculously rekindle their broken relationship or not, it would be her job to become a mother.

The hesitation seemed to make Aurë wary, but Elithien was quick to reassure her that she would do anything.

“I suppose I should start praying to Yavanna for my fertility then.”

 

**☽**

 

As much as she enjoyed Aurë’s company, the heavy talks had taken a toll. She felt emotionally drained and was prepared to drag herself back to her quarters and bundle up in heaps of pillows. To her dismay, the moment she returned to the palace a hand grabbed her wrist and whirled her around.

Míldir was there, eager as ever to steal her attention.

“I am sorry Míldir. Could we do this tomorrow?”

“Absolutely not. The moment I crossed Aurë I went straight towards the exit and waited patiently for you.”

“I came minutes after her,” she pointed out.

“Indeed. Now shall I throw you over my shoulder and carry you or will you be able to walk on your own?”

Elithien rolled her eyes and walked ahead of him. She struggled to hold back her smile when Míldir childishly punched the air in victory.

The ellon led her to the Great Hall’s balcony where many tables and benches were now outdoors, as the days were much longer and the weather warmer. There was a decent presence of quendi enjoying the sunset with mead and wine but not enough to be considered busy.

They shared a drink, basking in the spring breeze and the golden glow of the sun that hung low. Míldir, as playful and entertaining as he always was, left Elithien in tears after laughing from one of his many amusing stories. She swatted at him to stop.

“Please have mercy,” she said through a strangled chuckle as she rose. “I cannot laugh anymore.”

“I know. I am _so_ irresistible,” he teased, following after the elleth when she starting walking away.

“Mellon, where do you think you are going?” he said with a pout.

“To bed,” she answered him. Míldir was quick to slide in front of her and block the elleth from her path. Elithien stepped aside to pass him but he was persistent in making sure she stayed. The elleth crossed her arms and pursed her lips. She did not need to say anything for Míldir to understand she was no longer playing around.

Míldir sighed and conceded. “Very well. May I at least have a good night’s kiss?”

Elithien scoffed and shook her head with a smile. The Noldo then moved forward to offer him an endearing hug instead. “Behave, mellon.”

Míldir only smirked when he released her and bid her goodnight. Elithien was finally left to herself and so she turned to marvel at the remaining hint of sunlight before contemplating if she should retire as well. _A little longer watching the final stages of the sunset could not hurt._

“I had time to think on your proposal.”

Elithien flinched from surprise and whirled around with a startled expression. She refrained from swearing. “My lord, must you sneak up on me like that?”

“May we go somewhere more private?” he said, ignoring her retort.

The elleth sighed before nodding and followed after the King. He led them to an alcove nearby that kept them away from the eyes of the public. He did not speak at first, seemingly distracted by the view as Elithien was, so she leaned against the wall and waited for him to begin.

“Did you know I came to Harlindon a year after your departure?” Thranduil said once the sun fully set.

Elithien’s expression became perplexed. “ _What_ ?” 

“Leaving Greenwood was a great risk. It was at the cost of being disowned by my own father. He threatened that should I not return within half a year, I would never be welcomed within his lands ever again. After a year when I could not bear being without you any longer, I journeyed relentlessly to the west.”

Thranduil paused. He was good at hiding his emotions, but she could see the clear hurt in his eyes no matter how much he tried to remain nonchalant.

“And then I saw you. You were _happy_. To see you smile so sincerely had me realise then that I would only bring you despair. Your home was in Lindon, not Greenwood.”

She felt her jaws clench together while her body began to tremble. “Why had you not talked to me?” she bit through a choked sob. “How could you truly know I was happy without you?”

“For as long as my father reigned, I feared that I cannot guarantee your happiness if I brought you back. It tore at me to let you go but so long as you are with me, we will never have a normal, healthy relationship. Therefore I forced myself to accept what we had was truly over and returned home. My father continued to plague my mind with seeds of doubt. He lied about you leaving. He said you had only toyed with my heart and confessed it to him. At first, I did not believe it, but over time, it seemed easier if I persuaded myself that it was the truth, I could move on. For years I was so consumed in my own misery that when you came back, it was as though a ghost had returned to haunt me. By then, I was brainwashed by my own convictions that your only intentions with me were for your own amusement, I knew I had to push you as far away as possible because the truth was, had I let you closer, I would have hopelessly succumbed to you without a drop of hesitation.”

Elithien felt her chest become so tight that she had to breathe deeply through her mouth to remain calm. An overwhelming flood of emotions drowned her from comprehending his explanation. It did not bring her any relief to find out he believed she manipulated him and chose to believe it instead. A part of her empathised with his sorrow but her turbulent emotions ruled over.

“This is… a lot to take in,” Elithien said while crossing her arms to rub herself for comfort. “I am not sure if this makes anything better. The hurt is still there and I have yet to fully heal.”

Thranduil dropped his weight against the wall and rubbed his face in defeat. “Neither have I. I love you too much to ever think I will be ever to let you go.”

Elithien’s eyes were set on the floor when he spoke, her lips parting and her crossed arms sliding away until they dangled beside her. She turned up to look at Thranduil, and took a step forward.

“This is the first time I ever heard you ever profess your love to me,” she said almost warily.

Thranduil pulled his gaze back to her with a look of solace.

“How could it not be obvious that I am completely and hopelessly in love with you?”

The words coming out of his mouth caused her to snap her gaze at him. She may have supposed he loved her through his gestures in the past, but she never thought she would ever hear him declare it now, not after all that had happened. The elleth clutched her chest.

“This is too much for me,” she breathed, dropping her gaze to his boots.

“I will not overwhelm you any further with my explanations. My main purpose confiding you after all, was to let you know that I agree to your terms to take you as my queen. My wife. But on one condition.”

“Which is?” she asked, lifting her head to look at him again.

“On the night before you left Greenwood, you were about to tell me something but you were cut halfway. What was it?”

Elithien could see it in his eyes that he already knew the answer but he would not allow his hopes to be misled. He wanted to hear it come from her. She let out a shaky breath.

“ _Le annon veleth nín_ ,” she murmured, unable to meet his eyes. _I give my love to you._

“And what of now?”

Elithien swallowed.

“You always had it.”

Thranduil shifted until they were cast in the shadow, his taller figure blocking the light from coming through. The last thing she remembered was his cloak enveloping her and his arms wrapping around her protectively as he caught her lips and kissed her like it was his last breath.

The rest was history.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adar[s]- father  
> Yelya[q]- my daughter
> 
> Update: There will be no chapter this coming week, but instead the following week. Sorry for the delay! The next chapter is a pretty big one so it'll be worth the wait I promise.


	18. Chapter 18

Elithien absently observed her reflection in the mirror, eyelids occasionally fluttering closed while she enjoyed the therapeutic sensation of her hair being combed. The aroma of patchouli, thyme and lavender lingered upon the elleth’s skin, luring her to a calm state. She opened her eyes when her mother set the brush aside and fixed the last sprig of heather onto her tresses. Elithien shifted to flex her legs, feeling them become numb after hours of sitting still. 

“Drink this,” Aurë said as she presented a cup of tea to her daughter. “It will help with the stiffness.”

“I must have been everyone’s doll for the last eight hours.”

“You cannot complain when you were bathed in milk, minerals and flowers while four girls scrubbed your skin so clean that you slipped when coming out of the bath.”

Elithien tugged a smile. “That is true.”

Silence fell between them when two maidens came into the room and began adjusting the hem of the quendë’s dress. She glanced at the mirror and caught her mother’s gaze fixed on her.

“What?” Elithien asked.

Aurë shook her head. “Your father would be so proud if he could see you now.”

Elithien brought her gaze back on herself. She needed to stay composed and keep her emotions contained. There were far more important things to think about right now. 

When the maidens were finished sewing the last stitch, Elithien finally rose and felt her legs ache sorely. The blood came rushing back as she rotated her ankles to get the sensation back in her feet. The quendë took her mother’s outstretched hand and drew a heavy breath.

“Ready?” Aurë asked.

Elithien nodded. 

“As ready as I could ever be.”

 

**☽**

 

The traditions of elven marriage did not entirely apply to Elithien. It was customary for a year of betrothal—a promise in the form of two silver rings for the respected pair—before the marriage would become official. With so many traditions already broken since Thranduil’s coronation, it no longer came as a surprise to Elithien that they had foregone the betrothal and went directly to their wedding. Still, if the situation had not been as complicated, she would have much preferred to uphold their traditions and follow the path of her kin.

While the venue for her wedding day was the same space Thranduil was coronated, it was transformed so drastically that it did not even look like they were indoors. The room was redecorated into an excessively opulent garden. Hundreds of different flowers and plants filled the room. The ceiling was hanging with rows of wisteria that shifted ever so slightly in colour whenever the breeze blew and revealed the sun. The floor was covered in carpet grass and the seats were decorated with vines twisting between the gaps. Everything about it was ethereal.

Elithien could spend hours appreciating the arrangement but despite her awe and excitement, she kept her eyes straight in front of her. 

A single chord was strummed by a lute which signalled Elithien to lift her heel off the ground and walk forward. The rest of the quartet tuned in and all heads from the rows of seats turned to look at her coming down the aisle. She kept her chin high and her shoulders squared, focusing only at the sight of the seer Cendir and Thranduil who stood waiting for her. 

The cold rush coursing through her body gradually disappeared when she came into Thranduil’s sight, watching how the ellon’s mouth parted as he studied her with an intense gaze. He looked so stunned and it left Elithien feeling relieved, the smallest smile forming on her lips. He too, was evidently groomed to look his finest. The King’s layered robes matched the colours of her ivory dress, with a darker shade of grey lined within the sleeves. His hair was half braided and his favoured crown with twisted branches sat upon his hair, now decorated with spring berries in shades of cerise. She would not deny he looked beautiful in his ensemble.

The walk felt like centuries for her. The distance from the entrance to the altar was far enough and with her gown so ridiculously long, she had to tread carefully so not to trip on the delicate fabric. If it were up to her decision on her choice of dress, she would have preferred something simpler and far more practical but she had little say in the matter, not when they wanted her to make a statement that she was to be a queen, not just a wife.

 

 

It was evident that the procession was more formal than it was a celebration. While it was a wedding and less so a second coronation, the room felt stiff and the tension in the air thick. Every action was strictly to the books and she was not allowed to shed a hint of her apprehension. When she arrived at the steps, Thranduil took her hand to guide her to the platform until they stood readily in front of Cendir. A part of Elithien wished they were granted a second so she could properly look Thranduil in the eye and share this moment with him. But neither had broke from their roles and remained focused on what was in front of them, posture so straight she could feel the strain in her spine.

“People of Greenwood, today we come together for a very sacred day. In the presence of the Valar, we witness the union of two souls to become one. Many years Greenwood has ruled with only a king, but today, the king shall no longer reign alone, for he shall be blessed with the gift of a queen to stand alongside him,” Cendir declared with raised arms.

 

The seer gestured at Elithien to step forth and offered her a chalice filled with liquid. She took the cup with both of her hands and waited for Cendir to speak.

With this cup, represents Yavanna, Giver of Fruits. Drink plentiful and then share it with your partner. May she bless you with the abundance of life for the kingdom will thrive with many heirs.”

The Noldo brought the silver chalice to her lips and drank half of its contents before handing it to Thranduil. She took this opportunity to steal a glance while she watched the King place his mouth on the same place she took a sip from. The cup was then returned to Cendir.

The seer retrieved a long smudge stick, bundled with dried white sage. He lit the tip and waited for it to catch fire. When it was sufficiently burning, he shook it until it only left a trail of smoke. Cendir began to circle around the pair, waving his free hand to draw the smoke towards them.

“As this cleansing smoke surrounds you, feel the protection of Manwë, King of the Wind and of the Valar, casting all evil away from your bodies. Inhale it deeply and let his breath fill your lungs,” the seer said.

Elithien drew a deep and slow inhale, the pungent smell of menthol and the earth tickling her nose. She felt the need to rub her eyes when too much of the smoke blew in her direction but refrained from doing nothing more than blinking her tears away.

Next, Cendir offered a slice of ginger root to each of them and prompted them to eat it.

“Consume this and let Estë, Gentle Lady of Healing, rid you of any sickness and keep you and your children’s lives healthy and well.”

Cendir then took each of their hand and cupped them together. He placed a clear quartz cluster in their palms and then curled their fingers to close over it.

“Let this crystal grant you everlasting beauty, that you will never be separated from one other, and the light from Varda, Queen of the Stars, bless you with guidance and fulfilment.”

They remained in silence, waiting several more moments before releasing their grasp on the quartz and returning it to Cendir. Finally, the seer beckoned them to face one another as he presented their wedding bands. They took the rings. Thranduil was the first to take her right hand and positioned the band on the tip her index finger.

“Elithien Tindäure Síloril Aurëyeldë, blood of the Noldor and Sindar, do you accept, in the presence of Eru and all the Valar, to be my wife?” Thranduil spoke as he locked his gaze on her for the first time. Her stomach filled with butterflies after listening to him declare her full name, including the one he gave her. She held back from shuddering, her emotions battling to surface.

“I will,” she answered. While Thranduil’s face remained stoic and the lines on his face hard, she could see the flicker of warmth in his eyes. That was enough to reassure her this was not a mistake. 

The King then slipped the delicate band, fashioned in gold vines entwined together along with tiny moonstones embedded around it. He held her hand a little longer than necessary and giving her a brief stroke with his thumb as he released her.

It was Elithien’s turn to slip the band into Thranduil’s finger. With the hand that now bore her ring, she gently took him by the wrist and held his ring in front of his index finger.

“Thranduil Oropherion, King of the Woodland Realm, Ruler of the Silvan, do you accept, in the presence of Eru and all the Valar, to be my husband?”

“I will,” he responded.

The elleth slid the ring and gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

“I ask you to place your hands over each other’s arm and recite your vows.”

Elithien moved to rest her hand over his bent forearm while his hand wrapped from underneath hers. Together they met each other’s eyes and declared their oath.

“ __ You cannot possess me for I belong to myself,  
__ But while we both wish it, I give you that which is mine to give  
__ You cannot command me, for I am a free person,  
_ But I shall serve you in those way you require and  
_ __ The honeycomb will taste sweeter coming from my hand.

__ I pledge to you that yours will be the name  
__ I cry aloud in the night and the eyes into which I smile in the morning.  
__ I pledge to you the first bite of my meat and the first drink from my cup  
__ I pledge to you my living and my dying, each equally in your care  
__ I shall be a shield for your back and you for mine  
__ I shall not slander you, nor you me  
__ I shall honour you above all others, and  
_ When we quarrel we shall do so in private and  
_ __ Tell no strangers our grievances

_ This is my wedding vow to you _

_ This is the marriage of equals _ .”

Elithien continued to gaze into Thranduil’s eyes, the sound of Cendir’s voice drowning out until she could not hear him any longer. They took in each other’s promise and the weight of their words finally sank in. While the vows they exchanged were scripted from their predecessors, passed down from one generation to the next, and the wedding more a show for the people than for each other, their intentions felt sincere. The way Thranduil looked at her like he did all those years ago while they simply held each other’s hand as the world around them faded away, was the one true moment she would remember on this day.

The quendë did not realise Cendir was preparing to crown her after being momentarily distracted by the King and quickly turned her attention back to the ceremony.

“Kneel before the throne, take this staff and pledge your oath to the Woodland Realm.”

She did as she was instructed, following the same steps Thranduil took when he was coronated. When she finished taking her oath, she bowed her head.

Elithien peered at the crown in Cendir’s hand that was near identical to Thranduil’s current one—except that it was made of white gold and embellished with frost blueberries—being brought to her head and placed upon her. She was blessed by the seer and then they were at their conclusion.

The ceremony officially ended when they leaned in and shared a brief, almost stiff kiss, hearing applause fill the room in praise now that the marriage was complete. Thranduil took her hand and they turned together to stand before the crowd of their people. Her people. 

“Alae! All hail the King and Queen,” Cendir proclaimed.

The crowd repeated Cendir’s words, over and over as flower petals were thrown towards them.

It was only in the noise did Thranduil lean towards her and whisper in her ear.

“I am in dire need of a drink.”

Elithien gave the crowd a wide smile as she waved at a few citizens before responding. 

“By Ilúvatar, I am too.”

 

**☽**

 

Elithien felt her legs completely give out once she was able to sit down. Her back ached from standing so stiffly and her only consolation was the glass and jug of wine readily prepared for her. She chugged the cup and refilled it, drinking deeply again.    
  
The Feast that followed the ceremony, though still a formal event, was free of the tension and pressure from delivering every sentence in absolute precision. While the entire kingdom celebrated the event, the Great Hall was restricted to only the closest members of the monarchy. Elithien turned to look at Thranduil who sat beside her and watched as he rubbed his face tiredly. They were sitting on an outstretched table reserved for only the two of them while the open space in front of them had a few elves dancing with one another.   
  
Even if it had been centuries being separated from Thranduil, she recognised the look on his grimacing face. He was anxious.   
  
“What is troubling you?” She murmured gently while leaning towards him.   
  
“Nothing,” he answered flatly. Elithien was taken aback by his abrupt answer but she could not blame him for it. They were still healing and regaining each other’s trust would take time. She respected his reproach and straightened back to her seat.   


When the song ended, the quendi before them clapped after a merry dance and walked off to continue enjoying the rest of the festivities. A calmer tune filled the room and Elithien felt her back sink a little further into her chair. It was then her mother and Maeldir approached them with a necklace each in their hands. She reluctantly straightened.

At their arrival, both Thranduil and Elithien rose from their seats and moved to join Maeldir and Aurë on the open space where everyone could see them. It was the time for the blessing by their parents.

Aurë was the first to approach them. She nodded gently at Thranduil.

“Hello,  _ onya _ ,” she said with a radiant smile. “Please take my daughter’s hand.”

Thranduil followed her instructions. When his fingers were entwined with hers, she could feel his grip was a lot more relaxed than it was during the ceremony albeit he was still stiff.

“In Noldorin tradition, the parents of the married couple would offer a necklace as a form of our blessing,” Aurë explained as she drew towards Thranduil and presented a silver chain necklace with an opulent citrine gem pendant. Thranduil bowed his head and allowed Aurë to don it on him.

_ “ _ Nai Varda Tintalle laruva ellor Elithien-va ar Thranduil-va ar nai Eru Ilúvatar alyuva tet _.” _

_ May Varda Star-kindler hear Elithien and Thranduil’s calls, and may Eru the Father of All bless them. _

Aurë fixed the necklace to rest on Thranduil’s chest before she stepped back and allowed Maeldir to bless the bride. Traditionally it would have been Oropher’s duty to perform the blessing, but with his passing, Maeldir took the father of the King’s place. He approached Elithien and repeated the same gesture as Aurë did, the elleth lowering her head as he placed it over her.

“Tiro Elithien ah Thranduil Aran Einior, ah elio din Eru,” 

_ May Manwë Lord of Wind watch over Elithien and Thranduil, and may Eru the Father of All bless them. _

When the blessing was complete, Aurë and Maeldir stepped back. Elithien glanced down at the pendant resting between her breasts and admired the stunning labradorite. She released Thranduil’s hands and gently touched the smooth surface of the crystal.

“This is so beautiful, Maeldir,” she whispered, glancing up at him. “ _ Le fael _ . You have been nothing but a true father figure to me.”

“I consider you family,  _ iellig _ ,” Maeldir said. 

“Oh please, carry on with the festivities,” Aurë said with a chuckle. “I can tell you will fall asleep if you have to endure another formality.” 

Elithien exhaled with a sheepish grin. “It has been a very, very long day.”

The elleth felt a sudden but gentle hand rest on the small of her back. The tip of her ears flushed with red from the gesture. It was comforting to feel Thranduil’s subtle affections.

“ _ Guren glassui _ . You have my deepest gratitude for all that you have done for us,” Thranduil said to them.

Aurë and Maeldir bowed and then departed.

Elithien turned to face Thranduil, moving her arm to take the hand that was resting on her hip into her palm. She gave it a fond squeeze.

“You look exhausted. You should rest,” she said.

“I think I will retire from the Feast and take a bath. The day has been long.”

“I cannot imagine how difficult it must be for you to adjust with such a heavy role. Being King must be no easy feat.”

Thranduil scoffed. “Indeed it is not. I do not recall the last time I have had a good night’s rest.”

“Go then,” she prompted, releasing his hand. “I will join you shortly. Have your bath and lie down for a bit.” 

The King finally agreed and prepared to take his leave. Elithien could tell he hesitated whether he should kiss her or not. He settled with a light peck on her forehead before walking off. 

Elithien sighed while she rubbed her arms. 

Time would only heal the wounds between them.

 

**☽**

 

The quendë decided to linger around for the Feast a little while longer, talking to a few Noldor friends, making new acquaintances from Thranduil’s maternal relatives and thanking many elves for their gratitude and their blessings for being the newly appointed Queen of Greenwood. It was still difficult to wrap her head around the title but she was more than relieved to see how far she had come since first stepping foot into these lands.

“It is quite astonishing we now have a Noldor sitting upon the Silvan throne,” Léra said. 

Léra was one of the few Noldor that lived through the First Age and chose to remain on Middle Earth, much like Aurë. She was at least two thousand years old. Elithien greatly admired her for travelling all across Middle Earth, journeying as far as she did to come to the Woodland Realm. Their affinity for magic made conversation often enjoyable for Elithien, even though she did not share the same sentiments as some of Léra’s opinions when it came to political matters.

“I imagine not everyone would be pleased with a foreigner ruling over them,” Elithien said, taking a glass when a servant passed by to offer her a drink. 

“The true foreigners are the Naucalië, Númenoreans, and the rest of Men. The quendi would rather let their heads roll over the muddy plains of Mordor than let any of them sit on our throne. Some of them may be our friends, but they are certainly not our people,” Léra said sternly. 

Elithien only offered a courteous smile and nodded in acknowledgement, though not necessarily in agreement. She was not prepared to discuss politics tonight when she had yet to be queen for even a day.

To her great relief, Míldir intervened and greeted her.

“Your Highness,” the Sindarin grinned, giving her an unnecessarily low bow. Elithien resisted the urge to snort, raising her hand to cover her mouth.

Míldir continued. “Lady Léra, I do not hope it offends you if I may steal the Queen of Greenwood for a moment.”

The Noldor elder shook her head. “I would like to fetch some food anyway.” She nodded at Elithien when dismissing herself. “Your Highness.”

Elithien sighed in relief once Léra was gone, pulling Míldir to the side of the hall for a change of environment.

“I see you have been enjoying the wine,” he pointed out when Elithien finished her glass and swapped it with a full one. 

“The Silvan’s affinity for drinking is appalling. You should see how much Thranduil drinks. It is genuinely alarming.”

“I suppose you are fitting in perfectly then,” he teased. The ellon yelped when Elithien pinched his arm but laughed afterwards.

“Míldir, I have been meaning to talk to you but these last several weeks have been so hectic.”

“Oh?” He raised his eyebrows cheekily. “Have you come to tell me you regret the marriage and wish to elope?”

“What? No,” Elithien groaned. Míldir’s ability to turn any serious matter a joke was a skill on its own. “Mellon, please. Can you be serious for once?”

“Alright, alright. Serious is boring but you are the queen so your wish is my command,” he said but shrugged and folded his arms as he leaned against the column. “What is it do you wish to discuss?”

She felt her stomach twist just thinking about it. “How…” she swallowed and tried again. “How is Halloth?”

“Ah. Dear sister,” Míldir said with a nonchalant tone. “She despises you very much.”

Elithien’s stomach sank. “I suppose I know that already. What does--what does she think of the wedding?”

“You mean the very marriage that not only you stole from her but also her dreams of becoming Queen of Greenwood?”

The elleth chewed her lip. “I take it not very well.”

“She left halfway through the ceremony, running off in tears.”

That comment felt like a punch in her gut. Her mouth felt very dry. 

“This is all my fault,” she breathed.

Míldir’s usual chipper expression faltered into a frown. “If you really would like to make a difference, then be a true friend and seek for her forgiveness, one that she deserves. I tire of your cycle of self-wallowing guilt. You are my friend but she is also my sister and it hurts me to see her so miserable.”

He was right. She could not keep her habit of self-pity forever. She needed to make proper amends with Halloth. “I will, Míldir. I swear I will right my wrongs with her.”

The Sindarin did not reply to her promise, leaving them both in awkward silence. The elleth resorted to drinking when the tension between them became unsettling.

“You look like you are about to cry,” he said.

“Honestly? I could burst into tears any minute.”

“Do you need a hug?” Míldir cooed her patronisingly.

Elithien forced a grin and shook her head. “In your dreams, Míldir.”

“Right well, congratulations on your dreams coming true. I am off to get very drunk,” the ellon said while rolling his eyes.

Elithien chuckled. His grimace quickly curled into a mischievous grin when he made a rather inappropriate gesture at her. She mouthed a profanity in return before waving him off. “Go. Enjoy the rest of the festivities. I intend to fall into my bed and never get up from it.”

“Very well, your highness. Enjoy your evening,” he said.

Once alone, Elithien took this time to observe the festivities, watching different groups of elves partaking in different activities. Silvan, Sindarin and Noldor all laughing and enjoying one another’s company. The Noldo Queen felt her lips curl into a genuine smile. 

She turned to glance at the main door where Thranduil left. Elithien drew a heavy inhale and began walking towards the exit. Her duties have yet to be complete.

 

**☽**

 

When the elleth entered Thranduil’s—and well, her chambers she supposed—the quendë had thought she entered the wrong room entirely. The conference table that was originally the first thing one was greeted with no longer was there. The divider had disappeared and the living space had been completely refurbished. The ambience was brighter, various potted flora and indoor trees were displayed in different sections of the room. The office behind the divider was replaced with two sofas and a low table that sat between them. She was tempted to further explore the space in detail but decided to focus on finding her—she blinked—husband.

The moment Elithien went towards the bedroom, Thranduil was already in front of the corridor with his fingers combing through his damp tresses.

“I see there has been an upgrade,” she said.

“It is now yours as much it is mine. I would hope that you could have a space that you can call home.”

“It is certainly a lot more welcoming. I did notice the Noldorin motifs in the architecture that were added.”

Thranduil offered her a faint smile. “I am glad you took notice. You may be the Queen of Greenwood, but your roots would always be a part of you, one that I know you are very proud of.”

His comment had the uneasy weight on her shoulders simmer away. It reminded her so much as to why she was so enamoured by Thranduil, by his kindness and how he was far more selfless than meets the eye. 

She noticed he had forgone the lavish ensemble in favour of something much lighter. He still wore his signature sweeping robe made of silk but beneath it was nothing more than a beige linen tunic and trousers. In hindsight, she had never seen Thranduil in loungewear before. It struck a sense of intimacy and vulnerability for choosing to look so plain and comfortable.

“You look… I like this,” she murmured, her eyes still fixated on the silken nightgown. She realised it shifted in a different shade of colour whenever the fabric rustled in the light, revealing a hint of a rusted orange. She supposed this was as plain as Thranduil could get.

“This is what I wear when I sleep,” he pointed out flatly, like he did not get her point.

“It is something you wear that no one else sees, in your most exposed state,” she replied.

“I still have a blade under my pillow,” Thranduil frowned. He seemed mildly offended. 

Elithien let out a soft chuckle. “That is beside the point. Fret not. It was a poor attempt at small conversation. I would like to get undressed and bathe as well.”

Thranduil stepped aside and granted her passage. “When you are finished, come to the living room.”

She nodded and continued into the bedroom. At first, she was tempted to explore the space but forced herself to save the touring for later, though from what she caught from her peripheral, it too had drastically changed.

 

**☽**  


 

Elithien took her precious time with cleansing herself. The bath was far too big for one person. Petals floated around until they gathered into the corner whenever she moved her leg, causing the water to ripple. She stood after she was fully relaxed and fetched a robe to dry herself. The elleth took a seat in front of the vanity that was clearly prepared for her and began testing several lotions and oils on her skin. She settled with a woody and rose note, massaging it gently into her skin.

The Noldo took her time with her ritual, preparing her body to be smooth and aromatic. She eventually paused to look herself in the mirror and stare at the vulnerable elf the watched back.

Would she be able to please the King in bed?

Her eyelashes fluttered down to examine her body, noting the few faint scars and blemishes caused by several old battles. The most prominent one was the one on her thigh from when she was impaled while carrying Thranduil. The healers had done well to fix the wound, but no amount of skilled fingers could fully rid of the scar. She leaned in and lightly brushed over the white mark and only upon close inspection that she realised the scar resembled a crescent moon. 

The elleth sat up and resumed her grooming. She could not keep Thranduil waiting.

After tedious amounts of brushing her hair, she decided to let her hair fully down. She gave her cheeks a pinch to bring out the rosiness and stood. Her eyes travelled to search for a wardrobe and found it between the bathroom and bedroom.

Her eyes roamed over the grand selection of dresses, taking a few out to appreciate the details before setting it back. There was little point to dressing up only to have Thranduil struggle to get it off her. So she settled with a simple chemise that brushed her ankles and did not bother with a robe.

With a final glance in the mirror to make sure she looked presentable and appealing, the quendë went to the living room, trying in every way to ignore her pounding heart and churning stomach.

 

**☽**  


 

At first, she thought Thranduil had disappeared elsewhere when she could not find him where he said he would be, but it was not long until a voice called out from the armoury room.

“I am in here,” he said loud enough for her to hear.

Elithien went into the armoury only to discover that it was no longer one. Her lips parted as she began to take in the completely refurbished space. The rows of shelves that used to have various helms were all replaced with apothecary supplies, ranging from potion bottles, poultices and dried hanging herbs. All around the room were abundant species of plants and flora decorated along the walls, some on consoles and others on the floor. At the centre was a large work table with a complete set up to concoct any herbal craft. The elleth’s eyes wandered the second time like her dream workspace had finally come true. She turned to Thranduil and noticed he was smiling.

“What happened to the armoury?” Was all she could muster.

“I had it moved to another section of the palace wing. If this is to be your new home, I would at least want you to have a space you can call yours.” His smile faltered when she has simply stood there dumbfounded. “Does it not please you?”

Elithien managed to cough a laugh of disbelief, vigorously shaking her head. “Thranduil you never fail to leave me in awe with how you spoil me so. I cannot even begin to express how grateful I am for this.” She realised then that they had been standing several feet apart from each other. Words were not enough for her to convey how truly delighted she was.

The quendë walked towards the ellon until he was in reach of her embrace, stretching her arms to wrap around his neck. Elithien leaned up until she was on her tiptoes and gave Thranduil a chaste kiss before releasing him, though she remained in close proximity. 

His head dropped to gaze down at her. The hard lines on his face faded away as a response to her affection. “May I spoil you one last time?”

“I am starting to think you are trying to compensate for something.” Her eyebrows raised in curiosity. 

Thranduil shook his head before he turned to fetch something behind him. When he faced her again, he had in his hands a stunning necklace that looked more expensive than anything she had ever seen. Her jaw practically dropped marvelling at the beauty.

“This is my wedding gift to you, my wife,” he said as he presented the necklace for closer inspection. “These are the White Gems of Lasgalen. This necklace has become the most prized possession of the Woodland Realm and nothing more valuable competes with this level of rarity.” 

The King moved to stand behind Elithien as he gently swept her hair to the side and adorned the jewellery on her. When he fastened the necklace, the elleth turned and glanced down while she gazed in wonder at the masterpiece. 

“I desired to comprehend your beauty in the form of an object but no amount of jewels could amount to what you truly behold.” Thranduil’s hand reached to brush his fingertips over the gems and had a look of admiration on his face. His fingers shifted until he was caressing her skin with his knuckles while his eyes drew to the elleth’s own. “Elithien Tindaurë, will you allow me to love you again?”

 

 

She choked back a sob, unable to bear his undying devotion to her. All facade and reservations she had for Thranduil washed away as quickly as the tears ran down her face.

“A part of me is afraid to say yes because the world has done but nothing tells us that we are not meant to be. Every time I allow myself to be closer to you, it always comes at a price,” she said between her sobs, her hands coming to her face to wipe away her tears.

“It has been--” Thranduil swallowed. “Difficult these several decades. It is clear we are both still very wounded by heartbreak and even now it will take time for us to fully heal.”

Elithien felt two warm hands rest at her waist and then Thranduil pulled her towards him. She glanced up and saw the hurt in his eyes--a familiarity she knew all too well. 

“ _ Gi melin _ ,” he said breathlessly, his hands catching her cheeks when he declared his love. “I will follow you to the void even if it would lead me to my own doom.”

Elithien uttered no response to him but her mind had been set. With her own hands, she took his that rested on her cheeks and gently pulled them away from her face, though keeping his wrist in her grasp. Then she turned and led him to their bedroom. It was only when they stood adjacent to the bed did the quendë speak.

“Make love to me,” she breathed. “I have no jewel or priceless totem to offer you worth anywhere as near as what you have given me but I want to give you myself. My very soul. I am yours in marriage and in love.”

Her forwardness was enough to shake Thranduil’s seemingly unbreakable composure as his cheeks quickly reddened. His eyes began to shift while he ran his fingers through his hair. When he attempted to speak, he stuttered and blushed even more. “Nothing more would make me happier.”

The elleth swallowed nervously when her hands came to the neckline of her chemise and pulled the string that supported the fabric on her shoulders. Her heart leapt when she felt the fabric slide away, gliding along her skin until it dropped onto the floor, leaving her completely exposed in front of the King. Her first instinct was to cover herself with her arms but she braved through her shyness and remained bare for him to gaze at his own pleasure. The quendë inhaled a long and deep breath while she stood in plain sight.

Thranduil seemed to be battling between behaving courteously and the pure awe he had for her naked beauty. His conflicted mind almost made him look like he was in pain deciding, though it was without a doubt he was bewitched by her and that reassurance alone was enough for Elithien to gather her silver locks that curtained around her and brought it behind her back.

“ _ Nin lithiach _ ,” Thranduil mumbled, swallowing multiple times to rid of his dry mouth. When Elithien reached behind her neck to remove her necklace, it was then did Thranduil move from his stunned position and interrupted her from continuing. “No, keep the necklace, please. I wish to see you as is.”

She had planned to bring her hands back to her side but halfway until her arms were levelled with his chest, she paused and glanced at his clothes. “May I?” 

Thranduil simply nodded, looking all too eager. She took comfort in that, holding herself from chuckling, though a smile did slip through.

The elleth began by pulling his evening robe off his broad shoulders and let it fall to the floor. She reached to grab the hem of his tunic and slowly raised it over his body until he assisted to shrug off the rest. Her eyes began to roam his exposed chest, noticing the familiar scars faint as thin white lines. There were several new ones that she did not recognise but decided to put her curiosity aside and continued marvelling over the curves of his taut body. 

“These were from the Battle of Dagorlad,” he said as if reading her mind. 

Elithien dropped her gaze to her own body and it went to the most visible crescent-shaped scar on her thigh. “I suppose both of us did not completely come out unscathed.”

The moment she finished her sentence, Thranduil’s hand immediately came to trace over her blemishes, as if reassuring her that she was still much desired despite it. The fine hairs on her skin raised as she shuddered from his cool touch. His fingernails grazed over her sternum, travelling down to her middle. “I remember you being so slender but now you carry the body of a warrior. It amazes me how you can still exceed your beauty.”

Elithien huffed a short chuckle. “You were always one to flirt.”

He did not retort like he normally would and instead pulled her to him and kissed her silent. The elleth wasted no second to reciprocate his affections, pressing her body firmly against his. The shock of her naked breasts upon his skin left Thranduil shuddering with a low groan. He dug his fingernails into her back and held her tighter. 

It was so liberating to feel the love of her husband’s lips upon hers without the guilt and fear haunting them. She was allowed to love him the way she truly had always wanted to and the thought almost brought her to tears again. Their escalating desperation for one another only proved that Thranduil’s sentiments were mutual. 

Despite being enveloped by the Silvan’s strong embrace, she managed to rotate them enough for her to push him onto the bed. His grip on her slipped away and he landed with a gentle  _ thump _ . She approached him but did not join him yet, leaning forward to undo the strings of his trousers.

Her ministrations were cut short when Thranduil suddenly leaned up and caught her. He pulled her hastily onto the bed and rolled her onto her back. Elithien shook her head to keep the spillage of hair away from her face and body, finding Thranduil hovering over her when she could see again. He took a moment to admire her, his eyes roaming along the curves of her body. She barely caught him cursing under his breath before he lowered himself and placed a ginger kiss on her clavicle. Her eyelids fluttered closed from the contact as she exhaled a breath. 

He continued to leave a trail, his lips brushing against her skin until it left her with goosebumps. The elleth felt a familiar sensation pooling in her stomach like it did when he had kissed her fervently the night he confessed to no longer wanting to marry Halloth. Her whole face felt hot and her lips tender. When Thranduil’s mouth enveloped the tip of her breast, she let out a loud sigh and arched her back wantonly towards him. 

Her thoughts quickly began to muddle, unable to fathom sensations she had never experienced before. The next couple of minutes came as a blur, completely lost in his ministrations. The warmth in the lower half of her body continued to clench and tingle restlessly until she had to squeeze her thighs together just to get any friction. 

“Síloril,” Thranduil breathed. “You look like you are about to faint.”

Elithien had not realised she had clenched her jaw and squeezed her eyes so tightly together that her face had gone flush red from the pressure. She exhaled as she relaxed her muscles and slowly opened her hazy eyes.

“It is overwhelming,” she confessed in a hushed tone but quickly added when she noticed the remorseful expression forming on his face. “You have no idea how much I waited for this moment. I did not expect how pleasurable the experience could be.”

A small grin formed on his lips. “I must be doing something right then.”

His contagious smile left her grinning giddily as well. “Lie down,  _ melmenya _ ,” she whispered. 

The ellon followed as he was instructed, though not without a curious expression on his face. “I do not recognise that Quenyan word.”

When he sank into the ivory linen sheets, Elithien shifted to sit by his hips before leaning to continue undressing him. She could already see him hard against the fabric.

“It is the equivalent of ‘meleth nín’ in Sindarin,” she explained.  _ My love _ . “I suppose it is often not spoken unless you are Noldorin.”

“I suppose it is a good thing I married one then,” he said while smiling. 

She was humbled by his words, leaning down to kiss him while she continued to undress him. When he was fully bare, she shifted to climb over him and straddled the King. They both shuddered from the contact while she brought her hands to cup his cheeks and lock her lips against his. 

Their exchange grew more fervent and hungry, their breaths mingling between their pants. Thranduil’s arms had come to wrap protectively around her back, revelling in the feel of their naked bodies pressed together. The need for friction between her legs was burning with desperate need, becoming slick against him. She knew Thranduil was in his own bliss when he became hardly comprehensive and his native accent came spilling through. 

It was clear neither were able to bear it any longer and so the elleth pulled herself away from Thranduil and rested her palms flat against his chest. She held her gaze on him when she lifted herself, drawing one hand away to position her entrance against him and then carefully lowered her body.

Her jaws clenched as she hissed, feeling the sharp discomfort of him stretching her from the inside. She knew from stories that the first time may not be pleasurable but she did not expect it to be this disconcerting. But as she continued, the reaction Thranduil had was worth all of it. His eyes widened and his lips parted. She did not realise how much he contained himself because it was the first time she witnessed him helplessly groan aloud until his head was rolling back. To see him so consumed by pleasure overcame her hesitations into satisfaction.

The elleth allowed herself to adjust, fighting not to think of the pain while they simply gazed at one another, absolutely bewildered. And then, without giving time for Thranduil to prepare himself, she began to move, rolling her hips in motion to her slow breaths.

Thranduil’s fingers ran along her thighs until he caught her hands looking for support. They entwined their fingers together and he held her firmly while she moved at her own comfort. She struggled to keep her eyes open, simply wanting to lose herself in the creeping pleasure. 

“Are you alright, meleth nín?” Thranduil whispered, worry clear in his tone. 

She nodded slowly. “The pain is fading away.”

“You do not need to force yourself if it is too much,” he said, his eyebrows furrowing with concern. “It hurts me to know you are suffering.”

Elithien was quick to stop him by shaking her head. “No, I want this. I need this. Nothing compares to the pain of being separated from you. Not when I thought you no longer loved me.” 

With their hands still entwined together, she reeled him towards her until he was sitting up. She released his fingers and shifted to entangle her arms around his neck while his own found her back. The Noldo continued to move more confidently when it became easier to adjust to his size. Her breaths became more ragged and all discomfort had been replaced by sheer pleasure.

Elithien could feel her arousal return to her and when Thranduil began to roll in sync to her movement, she felt her legs give out. Unable to handle the bursts of sensations devouring her anymore, Thranduil took over. He held her close as he thrust in her, leaving her dizzy with rapture. Her loud sighs turned into moans, becoming deafening when he became merciless. 

The elleth heard Thranduil say something but could not make out the words. All she could do was clutch onto him and allow herself to completely lose herself to him. By then his movements were rough and unrelenting, sparing her no mercy. And she was absolutely elated by it. 

Elithien felt something build up within her, something unknown and powerful. She could only comprehend the sensation to the familiarity of magic bursting uncontrollably. The words to tell Thranduil to stop almost surfaced but she trusted her intuition to continue, rising until she crested. When it came down, it was like a tidal wave breaking against the cliffside and hurling over the entire shore until it was devoured by the ocean.

From that moment on, all Elithien could comprehend was the tight embrace of her husband’s arms, while she simply faded into euphoria.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The vows Thranduil and Elithien exchanged are originally from Celtic wedding vows of equals. It was just so beautiful and I did not want to change a single bit of it.
> 
> Le fael - [s]thank you  
> Iellig - [s]my daughter  
> Naucalië-[q] dwarf people  
> Gi melin[s]-i love you  
> Nin lithiach[s]-you enchant me  
> Melmenya[q] - my love


	19. Chapter 19

The duties of being Queen spared no rest for Elithien. Only a few weeks since her marriage and coronation, she found herself seated beside her husband in the House of Councils. Discussions were being made on matters with the Dwarven folk north of Greenwood; a long unresolved dispute that was never quite addressed until now.

“They are stubborn little creatures,” Fendris, one of the Council members, muttered. “We have sent emissaries in the past to negotiate with their King but all we receive in return—nothing. They will not even listen to what we have to offer.”

“What did they say?” Thranduil asked.

“The same as they always do: they do not have time to indulge in squabbles. Perhaps we should not bother keeping good relations after all, if they are so fickle and arrogant,” Fendris said.

“Let us not be irrational,” Cendir interrupted. “They have proven to be highly valuable assets for the kingdom. Their metal work is unbeatable and opening trade with them would in the best interests of Greenwood.”

“Then how in Eru are we supposed to propose this deal when they will not even receive us?” Fendris said in exasperation.

It was then the room fell silent when they could not come to a solution. While it was Elithien’s first time hearing this subject matter, she could tell this had been an ongoing dispute that left them time and again, stalemate. 

Thranduil rubbed his chin. “What say you, my wife? Perhaps an opinion from the outside could enlighten the Council with a fresh idea.”

The elleth straightened after remaining silent for the entirety of the meeting. She thought it was best to observe the discussions for now and none of the Council seemed interested in her involvement either way. Perhaps this could be her moment to prove she was more than simply a pretty face.

“From my understanding, the dwarves take offence to our method of contact. In more recent times, they are not exactly the most appreciated kind in Middle Earth—especially amongst our people, and the scrutiny they receive have left them reclusive. They know we desire their goods but are not willing to entertain us until we prove that we genuinely hold our interest in a more… sincere manner.”

Fendris scoffed. “Typical. They should be grateful we even wish to trade with them.”

“That attitude is exactly what proves my point,” Elithien grimaced. 

“So what do you suggest then, my lady?” Fendris said. 

It was clear that they did not appreciate her involvement in their politics. Even when working with Maeldir in the past, she remained in the shadows whenever it involved Council meetings. But their politics were now hers to address as well, and she would no longer keep silent on her opinions.

“Send his majesty to personally address the Dwarven King,” Elithien said.

They looked at her in surprise, blinking like they had not understood her. She noticed Thranduil glanced at her with the faintest grin on his face, hidden to the rest of them. 

“His place belongs in this kingdom, not unless with utmost importance,” Fendris argued.

“So are you to argue that the Dwarves do not deserve our attention? My lord if this is how you truly feel then this kingdom is as ‘arrogant’ and ‘narcissistic’ as the Noldor. And we know how much you loathe our kind,” She with a hard smile.

Fendris opened his mouth to quickly retort but he was left unable to come up with a good enough answer. He pursed his lips together into a fine line and, if Elithien suspected correctly, glared at her.

“It seems we have come to a reasonable solution,” Thranduil said. “I will go pay the Dwarves a visit and negotiate with their King. My soldiers shall accompany me in this journey and I leave the Queen to govern the kingdom in my absence.”

“With all due respect your majesty, the Queen has hardly any experience to run a kingdom yet. Our customs are different from the Noldor,” Fendris interjected, clearly opposed by this idea.

“Are you questioning my judgment, Lord Fendris?” Thranduil said with a hint of threat in his voice. “Lady Elithien will rule in my place and that is final. The issue has been addressed, and thus I adjourn this meeting.”

None of the Council could object after Thranduil rose from his seat and waited for Elithien to follow suit. She stood and bowed at the other members, noticing Fendris was whispering to the other lords while his sour expression remained locked on her. She looked away, deciding their disapproving looks were not worth her time and took her husband’s arm, walking off to be left in the comfort of their own privacy.

**☽**

 

The Queen of Greenwood adjusted the crooked brooch pinned on Thranduil’s tunic before she gave his chest a gentle pat and smiled at him. 

“I will miss you, melmenya,” Elithien said.

The Silvan leaned to give her a long kiss. They were unabashed to display their affections in public, not when they could finally do it without fear. She held him tightly, wanting to remember the scent and warmth of her husband before she would be without it for a while.

“I should not be away for longer than a moon’s cycle,” he said, releasing her and moving to mount his elk. 

Elithien came forward and gave the creature a gentle stroke. “Take care of my husband, Alato,” she whispered while resting her forehead against it.

“I have no doubt you will protect our kingdom with ease,” Thranduil said, tugging his reigns to prepare for his departure. His elite guards, including Ruieth, followed behind him. She gave the captain a nod before stepping back. The party took off, journeying past the gates of Amon Lanc while Elithien remained at the threshold until the King was completely out of sight.

She heard a disgusted noise from behind followed by some whispers she just about picked up and turned to find the Council staring condescendingly at her. They had spoken in heavy Silvan dialect, unbeknownst to them that she had become familiar in their slangs and colloquialism since Thranduil’s help. Even so, they were foolish to believe she would not pick up their language despite residing in the Wood for many years.

The elleth held her chin high and bowed at them. “My lords,” she addressed sternly.

They bowed in response, clear that it was out of sheer obligation. 

As she went past them, she gave a quick remark. “Also, I would try harder for an insult to my kind. I have heard far more creative names for the Noldor. ”

She resisted the urge to turn and see the looks on their faces and settled with a smug grin upon her lips.

 

**☽**   


 

It came to her as no surprise that the Council did as little to cooperate in assembling meetings for future matters, especially with her. Their discussions would only end in circles and then postponed for another meeting, a decision they believed would be only wise to address once the King returned. It had only been just over two weeks and too early for her to start picking her fights. 

And so Elithien held her ground and surrendered to their constant delays. What she did not inform them of is taking all books filled with hundreds of entry logs and ledgers, that were supposed to remain in the Council room, back to her quarters. She hardly doubted they would care if she chose to read the entire kingdom’s records, so long as it did not involve her interjecting her opinions on them. 

Elithien was on her third pot of tea after Lyssa had recommended having something to eat while she sat on the carpeted floor, scattered within seas of open books and papers. The Silvans were impressive in keeping track of their records and Oropher had been critical to addressing many issues Greenwood once had. However, close to his passing, she noticed a pattern of repeated offences that were neglected and these issues significantly increasing since he died. From her understanding, the Council had played a major influence on Oropher’s decisions and while their solutions for their larger issues were relatively smart, they ignored plenty of the lesser claims.

Yet, as she wrote down a list of these unresolved issues, it had quickly filled both sides of a long parchment for what surprisingly occurred within a single month. Farmers who requested new tools, the healers seeking for more workers and more alarmingly, ladies reporting cases of inappropriate harassment beseeched on them. The remark beside the particular cases of sexual assault reports was either blank or written as ‘to be further discussed’, and judging from the ongoing list, it never was addressed again.

“Lyssa,” Elithien called, straightening from her position and stood with the parchment in hand.

“Yes, mistress?” she replied hurriedly, rushing to her side.

“Take a look at this,” Elithien said, handing the parchment to her. “How concerned should I be about these reports?”

The elleth hummed while she scanned through each line. “I admit that I have heard from other servants distressing over this. A few of these names on this list are my acquaintances.”

“But is this true?” Elithien pressed. “Am I believe that several ladies have been sexually harassed and nothing was done about it?”

“Oh, well.” Lyssa scratched her neck. “Nothing vile has been committed. They have mostly been lords stealing glances or subtle brushes. I would say nothing more than any elf would do to court a lady.”

“Subtle enough to report this?” She said, shaking her head in disagreement. “No, clearly it was much more alarming. Surely I am not to believe the Silvan do not see forced contact as taboo much like the rest of our kin have always seen it?”

Lyssa frantically shook her head. “No, mistress! We absolutely do not condone such behaviour. I suppose these acts have not been severe enough to be considered a crime. Many would argue it could have been misinterpreted as a poor attempt of courting.”

The Noldo pursed her lips. “No, I do not believe these were failed pursuits, not when there are so many on this list. What is to say there are an abundant more that have not even come forth to report it out of fear for being reprimanded? Lyssa, these are crimes committed and I will not let this go ignored any longer.”

“What are you going to do, mistress?” The servant asked.

Elithien took the parchment from Lyssa and rolled it up. “I am going to call for each of these elf’s audience and hear directly from them.”

 

**☽**   


 

Elithien had prepared a table and two chairs in the palace’s greenhouse and invited every victim that reported their case. After interviewing just over ten quendi, she could already confirm the incidents were indeed connected, but the results so far still gave her no real lead. All their stories had mentioned it had occurred at night, often when they were in a large crowd when they could not identify the perpetrator. It was only until a lady by the name of Yeven explained her story that provided her with a different anecdote of her encounter with the mystery predator.

“The strangest thing was that I saw him yet I also cannot remember a single detail what he looked like,” Yeven said while recalling the events of her incident.

“So you actually saw this elf?” Elithien interrupted, tearing away from her notes and looking at her eagerly. 

“That is the problem, your highness,” she sighed. “I knew there was an ellon, but I do not remember anything about him. I was sorting the plates in the servant’s kitchen and then, I felt someone touch my back, I jumped and turned to find an elf with a few plates in his hand that he took from the table and offered to stack it on the top shelf. I politely declined since I had a ladder and I have done this plenty of times so it was not an issue for me. Still, he insisted and ignored my request. He continued to return the plates while trapping me between him. He was uncomfortably close and I could have sworn he was sniffing me.”

Elithien felt nauseated hearing Yeven’s story, but she forced herself to remain claim. “I am truly sorry for what has happened to you. I assure you I will never allow this again.”

Yeven dropped her head and slowly shook it. ”He did it again when I was struggling to fetch several bottles from a cabinet—when I had only a stool to use at the time.”

This information was what caught the quendë by surprise.   
  
“Wait. You are the only elf that reported not only seeing someone but being harassed more than once. How come I have not seen your second report?” Elithien said. Yeven shrugged. “The first one went unnoticed. Why bother with the second?”

“You mentioned earlier about not being able to see his face. What do you mean by that exactly?” The Noldo continued.

“It is like when you dream and you know someone is there, someone you even talk to. Yet when you truly try to think harder on it, you cannot describe their face, or what they looked like. It is an odd thing.”

It did not take long for Elithien to figure out what it was. “He used a cloaking spell on himself. A minor one just to hide his face. It’s a clever tactic when you wish to hide in plain sight.”

The Silvan lady seemed distressed from the conversation so Elithien set her notes aside and reached to place a hand on hers. 

“Thank you for everything, Yeven. Believe me when I say I will not rest until I guarantee the safety of all our people.”

Yeven glanced at the Queen’s hand on her and returned a small smile. “I am already glad someone would at least hear my story. What will you do?”

Elithien pulled away and gathered her notes.

“I have a plan, but I may need your help.”

 

**☽**   


 

The Noldo shrugged the last piece of clothing on and tightened the lace of the bodice, coloured in the Wood elves’ signature forest green. It was tighter than she expected and felt like she could hardly breathe in it. Elithien moved to stand in front of the mirror and inspected herself in Yeven’s garments.

Illusion spells were not difficult to conjure but they can be incredibly tedious when wanting to impersonate another elf. She had prepared a poultice earlier that day to temporarily dye her hair into a cool black and worked thoroughly through her roots and locks to let the pigments catch. 

The last step was to cast an illusion spell on her face and morph her appearance to look identical to Yeven. It took a lot of concentration and intent as she chanted an incantation in Old Quenya and felt her face tingle as it began to reform. When she opened her eyes, hoping that her skills in magic have not gone rusty, she was greeted with Yeven who stared back at her from the mirror. She grinned.

 

**☽**   


 

The Noldo instructed Yeven to remain in her quarters that day while she took her place. Elithien had spent a good hour learning the essentials to pass as Yeven and to make sure she would remain unsuspicious until their target would take the bait.

Thus the quendë placed herself in the kitchen and slowly went about her day sorting out the room, wiping the table, sweeping the floor and gathering loose herbs in bunches to dry. After spending the entire day working the kitchen and no one approaching her—set aside a few fellow servants asking for minor favours—she began to grow hopeless that their perpetrator would show up. 

When her patience had given up, she took her apron and began folding to store away. It was when she turned that she found herself trapped by two outstretched arms. Her eyes whipped to the elf’s face and as she suspected, the moment she studied his features, she had immediately forgotten it. 

“It was almost like you were expecting me,” he spoke. She could not recognise his voice either. 

“Consider your days of tormenting the quendi within these borders over,” she hissed.

Judging from his body language, it seemed at first he took her words as empty threats but when Elithien unsheathed a dagger from under her sleeve, he was quick to shove her hard against shelves and began to flee.

The knock of the wall caused a few bottles and jars to tip onto the floor and hinder the elf from escaping. She was quick enough to dodge the falling objects, lurching forward to slice her target. He managed to evade a serious wound but she was able to leave a cut on his unknown face. The elf cursed. Elithien thought she would be able to detain him but what she didn’t expect was for him to throw a handful of flour towards her, leaving her distracted and to her disappointment, his escape.

She frantically wiped her messy face with her sleeve and hear guards rushing into the room.

“What is this disturbance?” They demanded while inspecting the floor covered in broken bottles, scattered piles of powder, and jars. 

“A lord attempted to violate me!” She yelled, still pretending to be Yeven.

The two of them looked at each other before her. “We saw no one else leave this room.”

“Forget it,” Elithien muttered, deciding it was not worth arguing over it.

“Go rest. You are weary and all the other servants have left,” the taller of the two said, helping her up from the floor and carefully guide her away from the mess.

She remained silent and left once they said they will clean the glass themselves. When she was no longer in anyone’s sight, hiding in a bathroom, she removed Yeven’s clothes until she was only in the base of the dress and quickly washed the dye from her hair using a basin of water. 

When she was able to look remotely like herself again, that was when she pulled out the dagger from her sleeve and inspected the blade. The blood had transferred to her clothes but she was more than content with the progress she made. The trap had been laid.

 

**☽**   


 

For the next several days, Elithien kept her eyes peeled for any suspicious behaviour. She had sent Yeven to a village in northern Greenwood for her safety, concluding that after the sequence of events, her life may pose a threat. 

While there were many within the walls of Amon Lanc, it was not impossible to encounter all of them within several days. Her search felt like it became futile when she spotted no odd behaviour and considered that her perpetrator may not even be within the palace. Her only remaining chance was the Council and if they proved not to be the culprits, then she would have to expand her search.

To her luck, there was a scheduled meeting with the Council. It was a monthly lunch with the Council that was less formal and more of a change of environment. Elithien knew they were deliberately postponing the regular meetings but they were shallow enough to attend this one, especially when food and drinks were specially prepared.

Elithien came to the Council room around the time it was soon to be concluded, waiting for their bellies to be stuffed and they guard to be down after having several drinks. The Noldo entered the room and found the Council exactly where she expected them. Upon her arrival, they lazily pushed themselves from their seats and rose to greet her.

She raised a hand and dismissed them. “Greetings, my lords. Please do not let me disturb your meal. I have only come here to ask if there was any necessary information I may need to know.”

“None at all, your highness,” Ilden, the tallest of them, responded. “Nothing that would need your immediate attention.”

Of course. Elithien ignored the usual aversions and pursed her lips into a hard smile. “I see one of you is missing. Where is Fendris?”

They looked at one another until Cendir spoke. “He is unwell my lady. He just departed no sooner after you arrived.”

Elithien quirked a brow. “Did something happen?”

“He was attacked,” Cendir answered. Elithien felt her fingers twitch. She forced herself to remain nonchalant.

“Well, I shall not keep you from your meal. Could I at least have a copy of today’s discussion?” Elithien said.

Cendir nodded. “Of course, your highness. I will have it sent to your room as soon as it is concluded. You should have it no later than this evening.”

She thanked them and made her way out. The elleth held the temptation to rush until she was completely out of their sight and began briskly striding in search for Fendris. She asked the guards along the corridor and to her luck, she just managed to catch him at the bottom of the stairs. While she was unable to confront him, her suspicions had been confirmed when she noticed a prominent gash from his cheekbone to the middle of his hairline. Elithien exhaled a triumphant sigh of relief and continued to watch Fendris until he was no longer in view.

She had found her target.

 

**☽**   


 

That evening, Elithien could not focus on the stack of papers on her lap. She was comfortably in bed, but her body was restless, thoughts running non-stop while she tried to process her newest discovery. She would have thought if he was capable of conjuring an illusion spell, he would be smart enough to conceal his scar. Still, it did not matter anymore, she did not expect she only had to go through the first plan. 

There was a sudden cold rush of wind and Elithien felt the fine hairs of her arms raised. She swung her legs off the bed and went to the balcony to close the doors. As she was about to reach for a robe to cover herself from the armchair, a sharp pain struck her neck and she yelled. Her body gave into the shock and she fell to the ground, feeling her consciousness waver. The Noldo managed to turn her head and catch a glimpse of a masked figure standing over her, drawing a dagger out. 

The adrenaline of a life-or-death situation surged. Elithien managed to roll away and stumble back up. She frantically shook her head, willing herself to regain her focus and barely dodged a lunge from her attacker, falling onto the bed. 

It took no second for her assailant to climb over her and grab her by the throat with a crushing grip. She gasped while thrashing around, her pupils dilating while she begged her body to listen to her. Elithien knew how to break from a choke, but the initial blow left her slightly delirious and finding her concentration was a challenge of its own.

The black figure raised his armed hand and she knew then that he had intended to kill her. Elithien thrust her knee and landed a hit on his torso. The attacker grunted and his grip loosened on her neck. In that critical second, she shot her arms and grabbed his wrist to disarm him. She was agile enough to knock the weapon from his hand after he flung his arm from her attack, causing it to fly across the room and fall onto the floor with a loud clatter.  However, it did not save her from danger.

Her assassin used both of his hands to crush her neck and she could feel the life escape from her. Her vision was becoming hazy and his grip was too strong for her to pry his fingers away. Her arms flailed outwards, hoping by all desperation that there was something that could save her.

Every passing second became harder for her to fight, her fingers searching everywhere for  _ anything _ . Her knuckles brushed against the pillow and like a revelation, she prayed that Thranduil had kept his words true about his precautionary bedroom habits.

She felt her heart immediately sink when she did not find what she desperately needed but the moment she retracted her hand, she felt a hard object knock against her thumb. With every remaining strength she had left, she grabbed the handle, pulled it out and shoved the dagger right into her attacker’s stomach, her scream coming out nothing more than strangled cries when she shoved it further in and finally, slashed across the length of his belly. 

Elithien gasped the moment his fingers loosened and swallowed as much air as she could muster, coughing heavily while her head throbbed once the oxygen came flowing back to her head. She heaved painfully until her eyes were squeezed shut and her neck burning like firey liquid had been poured down her throat. Even if her assailant posed as immediate danger, she had no energy left to resist. 

Her heart rate never seemed to calm and while the long seconds felt like it would come to an end any moment, nothing came her way. Elithien remained limp on her bed, hardly able to process any feeling or sensation in her body while she only wanted to breathe as much air in as she was able to. Her eyelids eventually fluttered open, blinking away her tears. She managed to prop her elbows and lift her head and shoulder up, finding her assassin limp on her thighs and his innards splayed across her blood-drenched dress. She jerked her leg to nudge him but received no response. He was dead.

Elithien leaned forward and wrenched the body to roll off her and fall on his back. She crawled over and yanked his mask away, revealing an elf she did not recognise. He looked average, save a few ugly scars but no one she would think wanted her dead. Her only speculation at the time was that he was hired by someone who did.

The quendë staggered to climb out of her gruesome bed and slowly walked towards the main door. She attempted to shout at first but her throat was still too raw from pain and uttered nothing more than a squeal. She barged out to the corridor and whipped her head towards the two guards standing by the end. The moment their eyes caught her, they immediately panicked and rushed towards the elleth.

“My lady!” the guard shouted, clearly disturbed by her being completely soaked in blood. “What happened to you?!”

He was about to speak again but Elithien interrupted him and snapped first. “Summon the entire palace to the Great Hall. I want every single elf in that room within an hour by all means necessary. Drag each quendë out of bed if you must. That is an  _ order _ .” 

“Yes, your majesty,” they answered immediately and turned to charge off without a second to spare.

By the end of the conversation her voice had returned but it was still sore to raise her voice. She went back to her room and stood over her dead attacker, staring with a blank expression. The elleth then reached for the elf’s collar and pulled him off the bed, falling with a thunk. She turned around and with her grip still firm on him, she walked the entire distance from her quarters to the Great Hall while dragging the body behind her. She left a grotesque trail of blood along the way but ignored the screams when servants caught her walking towards them. They sprinted away as fast as they could, like she was Morgoth himself. 

When she finally arrived in the Great Hall, loud gasps and nervous murmurs filled the room as Elithien continued onto the platform before throwing the assassin towards the crowd, his body rolling off the elevated floor and falling onto the cold ground. Many of the quendi stumbled back in fear. 

“People of Greenwood,” Elithien called, ignoring the strain of her volume. “Before you is an elf that attempted to murder me in my own quarters. He was skilled and certainly well-trained, for he nearly succeeded in taking my life. As you can see however, he has failed.”

More whispers circulated around but they were quickly silenced once Elithien opened her mouth.

“One of you, clearly wants me dead more than anyone else, and I suspect it is because you were caught.”

Her eyes snapped to the Council gathered by the side, scanning each of their perplexed faces before her eyes locked her gaze on Fendris. She raised an arm and pointed at him. 

“Seize him and bring him to me,” she commanded. The guards obeyed and went to detain him.

“What?” Fendris said incredulously. “You think I sent him? This is absurd!”

Her eyes shifted when she saw a figure coming forward. It was Míldir with a genuine look of panic. “Is this really necessary? Should this not be handled more calmly?”

Elithien halted him with a hand and then returned her attention to Fendris who was brought to the stage and thrust down onto his knees with the two guards holding him. The elleth clasped her blood-stained hands together and approached the lord.

She leaned forward and inspected the long and jagged line across his face. “How did you get this scar?” 

Fendris blinked before furrowing his brows. “I… was attacked. Somebody gave this to me.”

“And you never reported this crime?” She questioned further. He looked uncomfortable with her interrogation. 

“It was only a scratch. It did not feel worth reporting,” he mumbled while averting her gaze.

Elithien remained silent, contemplating his words until she decided to step forward and face the confused people of Greenwood.

“I have demanded your audience because there have been malicious perversions roaming within our home. Many of you had reported your assaults but not one claim had been answered. I understand your frustration for the lack of justice, thus I have taken it upon my own hands to end this cycle. Thirteen ladies have come to me and confessed the unfortunate events bestowed upon them against their will. And there are many others I am sure to have been victims but were too afraid to report it.”

She turned and glanced at Fendris who had his mouth gaping at her. 

“Do you wish to speak?” She asked him.

“Are you accusing me of assaulting them? I have never touched a single elleth without their prior consent!” He spat angrily.

The sound of murmurs from the crowd became louder, staring at Fendris with surprise. The ellon began to wrestle the guard’s grasp but he was only answered with them further tightening their grips. “Whatever crime you think it is, I did not do it! You are accusing an innocent quendë!”

Elithien drew her eyes to the Council who seemed stunned by this scandal. Her eyes set at Cendir and then she beckoned him to come forth. He obeyed without thought and approached them on the platform.

“My lord,” she addressed him. “Do you think this ellon is guilty?”

“Well,” he swallowed. “I did not believe such a foul thing could happen in our home. However, attempted murder on the crown is accountable for the highest level of treason. The mastermind behind the murder must be brought to justice.”

“I did not send any assassin! Perhaps the one who tried to kill you wanted you dead for himself!” Fendris hissed while glaring at the pale carcass on the floor. 

“How sharp is your blade?” Elithien asked the guard. 

“Welded every day, your highness.”

She hummed in acknowledgement. “Míldir, do you serve your queen?”

Her friend stepped onto the platform and knelt before her. “With all my heart,” he answered sincerely.

She went to the guard and pulled the sword from its sheath. Elithien turned and then handed the sword to Míldir with both hands.

The gesture seemed to have put Fendris in a sheer state of panic, wrestling once again as he began to fear for his life.

“I swear to Eru I never sent anyone to kill you nor harm any elves!” Fendris said in a frenzy.

“I know,” Elithien said. “You are indeed innocent. You could have not done it, or else you would hardly be able to speak by now.”

The answer let not only Fendris in confusion, but the whole crowd spectating as well. Her eyes flickered to Cendir. The beads of sweat began trickling down the seer’s face and his face had become very pale.

“Feeling unwell, my lord?” She asked nonchalantly,

“I… may have eaten something spoiled earlier.”

She shook her head. “You nearly succeeded in getting away with your crimes. Pinning it on Fendris whom you knew has a hot temper seemed like an easy target to blame. You are clever enough to conceal the knife wound since you are capable of conjuring far more powerful magic. And so you attacked Fendris with an illusion spell and fabricated the only evidence I had on him. What you completely failed to account for was that I coated the blade with poison. Not enough to kill you, but it does contain a rather unpleasant mixture of northroot and midnight cap. It needs about twenty-four hours before it slowly takes effect, but once it passes seventy-two hours, you will start to experience the full symptoms of hallucination, fever, nausea and the most prominent feature, the darkening and protrusion of veins, accompanied with bloodshot eyes.”

By the time she had finished her sentence, Cendir’s face had completely matched her description, his skin turning into an ugly shade of purple. He struggled the urge to shiver uncontrollably, but not long after, the coughing fits began.

“You have been exposed for your crimes, Cendir the traitor. I demand your confession,” she ordered.

“Can you not see the vile Noldo that she is?!” Cendir directed his attention to the crowd, his usual calm demeanour completely dropped. “Are you truly going to let this mad elf rule over us? We spent all over lives creating an identity of our own, away from the condescending eyes of the high elves, and here we are, reducing ourselves beneath their sneers.”

Elithien remained silent and merely observed as the crowds began exchanging whispers of doubt. 

“Do not listen to him!”

All heads turned towards the source where Yeven emerged from the audience. The Silvan pushed through the people until she was at the front and turned to them. 

“My friends, for the last several months I have been tormented by this horrific ellon. He would abuse his powers and proceed to violate me when I am powerless. He had done this multiple times with no remorse. I would see his head off his body for what he has done to me.”

The crowds broke into an uproar upon this confession. Such crimes were considered one of the vilest and were completely shunned from the elves. Cendir looked panicked, hardly able to stand when the effects of the poison were taking full effect.

“And where is your proof of that?” The seer spat. She could not believe he was still trying to dissuade them.

Elithien pointed at his face. “You. I was disguised as Yeven the night you targeted her again. I had no intention of killing you--not yet at least. I wanted to find out who had the audacity to terrorise the ladies of the Wood and hear your confession. Now did you or not sexually harass not only Yeven but all other ladies of Greenwood who also fell victim?” 

Cendir cursed. “Yes. Now get over with my punishment.”

With his confession finally verbalised, Elithien nodded at Míldir who then walked to the culprit and brought him to his knees.

“Cendir the traitor. You are hereby sentenced to death on the attempted assassination of your queen and for the heinous assaults performed on multiple quendi of the Wood. Speak your last words,” Elithien declared.

“Long live the Silvan,” he muttered as he bowed his head.

Míldir turned for Elithien’s final confirmation. She nodded and so he gripped the sword with two hands, raised it over his head and swung down, slicing through Cendir’s neck with a near-seamless cut. His head rolled off and toppled onto the floor, leaving a gruesome trail of blood. The people of Greenwood gasped in horror, stumbling back as the head rolled towards their way. It continued to tumble until it hit the tip of Yeven’s shoe. Her eyes darted down to the grotesque sight before she spat on Cendir.

“May you rot in the depths of Morgoth’s wrath.”

Elithien proceeded to exhale sharply and walked off the platform.

“This audience is dismissed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> melmenya-[q] my love
> 
> I just want to apologise for the severe delays of chapters. I know I used to post weekly and haven't posted in months. Things have been incredibly busy and I decided to release this chapter as it has already been written up for a while. I'm trying as much as I can to catch up and to post more frequently again. I recommend you bookmark this story for notified updates since I can no longer guarantee it'll be posted weekly anymore.


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